The Psychoshipping Saga
by Yamitron
Summary: Marik and Bakura met during the Battle City Blimp Duels. Bakura storms into Marik's room, and their lives are changed. Graphic sex, language, and violence. Read at your own discretion.
1. Chapter 1

**[Author's Note:** This is a role-play written between Sisefs and I from mid April to late June of 2010. We were still getting used to our characters, but nevertheless I think it turned out well. I wrote the part of Marik, she wrote the part of Bakura.**]**

Marik folded his arms and scowled out the window before him. He watched as the clouds swirled about each other, dancing in front of the moon's bright light. He hated it. The stars twinkled, as if winking at him, and he felt a throbbing urge to reach out a hand and squish them all in his hands so they would twinkle no more.

He growled to himself and turned away from the window, walking over to his temporary dresser, reaching out for the Millennium Rod. Marik turned it over in his hands, and ran a hand along it's smooth shaft. He unsheathed the knife inside, grazed the blade harmlessly along his arm, and began to laugh quietly to himself when he heard a noise at his door.

Bakura was pissed.

He could never recall a time in his long, long life when he didn't know what to do next. The path ahead had always been clear to him; no careful pondering, no second thoughts, just - do. But somehow that damned Malik had made him hesitate. The choice seemed obvious: win a shadow game, get a Millenium Item...piece of cake.

But there was just something in the back of his head that told him no. Unable to figure out why this contradiction has presented itself, Bakura simply did what he did best. That is, follow his instincts.

So he found himself at Marik's door. Knocking. And, as it opened, making his predicament known in as blunt a manner as possible. "Your hikari. He won't stop bloody pestering me."

The spirit of the ring was not the first person Marik would expect to come to his door. Although, he didn't expect anyone to, to begin with. But that voice was unmistakeable; rough with a slight british accent. Marik gripped the rod more forcefully before raising his head. He turned to face his doorway with a smirk firmly in place as he folded his arms.

"Hello to you too, Bakura. And how is this my fuckin' problem?" Marik said with a grin in his voice. There was nothing he loved more than taunting the spirit of the ring. Well, with the exception of a good kill with blood fresh on his hands, he corrected himself.

"You're his yami. Do something about it." The spirit couldn't hold back a sneer as he saw Marik's hands tighten around that Rod - as if it was any use against him. For a moment he was vaguely aware of the coolness of the Ring's metal against his chest and shivered. He hoped Marik would mistake it for a silent chuckle.

But his eyes held no mirth - they locked onto the other's, narrowed, obviously annoyed. Damned if he was going to let Marik jerk him around. Bakura did NOT do submissive.

"No." Marik grinned. "I would rather not. I have better things to do than clean up your mistakes." He turned away from Bakura, and tilted his head back to look at him with an air of condescension. "Unless of course you can't handle a 16 year old kid on your own." He smirked and walked away from Bakura, pretending to be interested in something else, knowing this would aggravate him. He placed his rod in one of his belt loops, almost daring the thief.

Oh. Ooooh. That little fucker.

Temper flaring a little more easily that he'd have liked, Bakura growled. He have liked very much to lunge after Marik, push him against the wall, and threaten him with one of his favorite torture techniques...but not yet. "Don't talk down to me. You have no goddamned right." His hands curled into fists, longing for violence (as they always did). HE was the one in control here. Marik could provoke the spirit all he wanted, but he was going to get nothing. Even if he did put away that stupid Rod like he was so damned high and mighty like he thought Bakura couldn't make him suffer and bleed until he screamed for mercy.

These images calmed him somewhat.

"Look," Bakura began again, "if he keeps haunting my dreams, I'm eventually going to say, 'fuck it' and do what he wants. That is, get rid of you. If you care that little about your existence in this world, fine. Don't do a single goddamned thing."

Marik laughed and turned around again to face Bakura. He smirked widely, eyes taking in the annoyed spirit's stance. He understood he was trying to restrain himself, and this just made him laugh all the more. "I have every right in the world." Marik said, spreading his arms. "Besides, even if you wanted to you couldn't just 'get rid of me'. You and I both know that." He raised an eyebrow in his smirking, retaining his air of superiority. "I'm more than a match for you."

Arrogant little thing. He'd get what was coming to him, one way or another. Bakura, expression fading from peeved to vaguely challenging, crossed his arms. He was better than this, he told himself. No petty insults would lose him his control tonight. Voice lowered to just above a whisper - a volume that, coupled with his gruff tone and accent, was usually more than enough to intimidate - he replied, "Oh, really?"

He'll be sad when he inevitably has to kill Bakura. He was fun to play with.

The smirk slid from Marik's face in keeping with the seriousness of Bakura's tone. While a flash of intimidation occurred in his mind, he refused to let anything but indifference show on his face. "Yes. Really."

Images flashed in his mind of the ways he could be rid of the spirit should he be attacked. A quick stab to the brain, a slash to the wrist, even a kick to the groin could buy him time for a fatal blow. This calmed any nerves he felt, and allowed him to relax a bit more. "Just you fucking try, Bakura." The ends of his lips twitched in a small smirk.

Bakura laughed and took a step forward.

"Try? I don't try. I do."

Another step. He had nothing to be afraid of here, he thought. Five thousand years of experience compared to Marik's seven. Marik may be armed, but Bakura could be deadly in any situation. However...this was not what he came here to do. Perhaps another path would lead him where he wanted to be.

He closed most of the distance between them; they were now within arms' reach of each other. Anything goes. He allowed a tense moment to pass before-

"Marik, I didn't come here to kill you. Although it would get that kid off my back, it was not my original intention." Besides, if he destroyed Malik's body, he could say goodbye to that Millenium Item. "Let's save the bloodshed for another night, hm?"

"Whatever, Yoda." Marik said, flatly.

Marik's fingers twitched at his side involuntarily. His eyes narrowed. He was very aware of the short distance that was between them, and debated backing up or going forward. "Well what did you come here for?"

That...was a good question. What did he come here for? He'd just been following his instincts.

"...I came here for answers." Bakura was loathe to put himself at risk, but to find out what he wanted, he might have to put up with appearing somewhat vulnerable...if only for a moment. If Marik took advantage of that, well, maybe he wouldn't have to postpone the bloodshed after all.

He chose his words carefully. "Malik's proposition should be a no-brainer. For some reason, it isn't. I need to know why."

Marik's eyes widened slightly, being taken off-guard. That wasn't what he was expecting.

He recovered quickly and scowled at the pale man. "Do I look like the keeper of that knowledge? Much to my displeasure, I don't control your mind. So figure it out, or get out of my room." He sneered.

Not that he wanted him to leave. But that wasn't something he wanted to broadcast.

Bakura scowled back. "You can help me figure it out. And you will." Whatever distance there was between them disappeared; in one swift move Bakura had moved to within inches of Marik's face, glaring, snarling. Not angry at Marik, but at himself. He was beginning to understand, and he didn't like it.

"Why am I so opposed to killing you? What's keeping me from hating you as I do every other being I meet?"

Marik smirked at him. "I suppose you and I are the same in that regard, Bakura." His eyes sly and half-lidded.

He took note once again of how close together they were. Suddenly an idea struck him. It wasn't smart. Nor was it a good idea in any way he could think of. But damnit, he was one to act on sudden urges and this wasn't going to be any different. If he executed this, he reasoned, one of two things would happen. Compliance, or bloodshed. Frankly, he was fine with either. Perhaps result A would feature result B as well.

Marik hummed to himself momentarily, debating. "Hold still," He said, decided. He grabbed a fistful of the spirit's striped shirt and dragged him the last few inches separating them, and forced their lips together.

Somewhere in his mind Bakura had known this would happen. Somehow, this made no difference.

Instinct. Follow instinct.

Instinct said yes. His mind said no. Again, torn. After a split second for the the fact that his lips were now locked with Marik's to register, his mind won out - his hands gripped gold-plated wrists and tore them from his shirt, ripped away from the kiss, eyes wide with something that was not quite confusion. But no sooner had he left Marik than he grabbed the boy by HIS shirt, shoved him back against a wall (none too gently), and forced their lips - and bodies - together again.

This. This was right.

Marik was none too pleased with having dominance ripped from him. He was contented with having result A, though.

He grunted at being forced against a wall. His rod was now digging into his back, and it hurt. But he could deal with it for now- he'd had worse, obviously.

Not wanting to be controlled even slightly, Marik grabbed Bakura's shoulders forcefully as he kissed him back, hard.

He growled a muffled growl into the kiss, obviously reluctant to hand over any power to Marik. Bakura did not do submissive.

Bakura's body was overtaking his mind now; no need to overthink things. Just enjoy. A desperate hunger was gnawing at him, a fire sparking from within. They had only just begun, but he wanted more. His tongue slipped uninvited past the barrier of Marik's lips, seeking out the yami's own, twirling around it, rubbing against it. His hands meanwhile had let go of the fabric and lifted it, now pressing directly against smooth, tanned skin; keeping Marik forced back, but exploring roughly all the while.

His mind urged him to fight back; to be authoritative. He shushed his mind however- turning it off in favour of doing whatever he pleased.

His tongue pushed against Bakura's, playing with it, occasionally nipping at the wet muscle which had forced its way through his mouth. Simultaneously his hands left the shoulders they had been latched to and twirled teasingly down his back. His fingers reached his lower back and slipped under his shirt, feeling the increasingly warm pale skin, until they left his body entirely.

He paused briefly, neither attacking his tongue nor assaulting his body; making the white haired one wait.

Marik then grabbed his bottom lip with his teeth and sucked on it, at the same time as his hands groped Bakura's ass.

When the tanned hands left his body, Bakura paused, wondering what the other was up to - but as he became unresponsive entirely, Bakura growled deep in his throat, body aching for his touch. His want turned the seconds into what felt like hours.

What Bakura was not expecting was the force with which Marik returned to him; it caught him off-guard, made his knees weak, made him let out the smallest of groans in a moment of weakness. He clawed now at Marik's chest, almost painfully, refusing to let his dominance go completely even as he leaned subconsciously back into the yami's touch.

Marik inwardly smirked as he continued his assault. He drew up one of his hands to wrap around Bakura's back, pressing their bodies even closer together.

He loved the feeling of the two of them close together. Their lips locked and their hands attacking each other.. Even the pain felt good. The pain, the intimacy of the touches; Marik wanted more of this. A moan involuntarily escaped his throat.

Bakura couldn't help but smirk into the kiss. Marik wanted this as much as he did - he was at no disadvantage. His hands ceased their attack in favor of palming, then tweaking and rubbing, the other's (despite the heat between them) perked nipples. Bakura had decided that he would find a weakpoint, a soft spot, and exploit the hell out of it; if that didn't put him in complete control, nothing would. Here began his search.

At the same time, his lips broke from Marik's and reattached themselves to his exposed throat; kissing, nipping, sucking, licking, biting. Trying to ignore that hand that kept assaulting his ass and trying to ignore the sounds that were trying to fight their way out from his throat because of it.

As lips made contact with his neck, Marik squeezed his eyes shut and focused all his energy on not making a sound. He would NOT let Bakura win this. Sensations from all over his body plagued his mind, making his head spin.

BREATHE, you idiot! He thought to himself. Marik finally exhaled the breath he had only been vaguely aware of holding. His exhalation was ragged and betrayed him- he cursed it inwardly.

With one hand still on Bakura's ass, his other began snaking up his shirt, scratching and rubbing the skin. He let out a growl.

He was gaining leverage! He had a foothold now - Bakura grinned against tanned skin, leaving more lovebites down the side of Marik's neck, confident now. He growled in response (a bit more breathy that he'd've liked), the noise vibrating against the other's neck, and shuddered as he felt hands crawling up his shirt; but he made up for it by moving a thigh subtly between Marik's legs. And pressing. And rubbing.

He wanted more of those sounds the boy was making. They were delicious.

Marik's mind grew clouded; he didn't like just being against the wall. He wanted to have more of Bakura, and (as much as he hated ceasing the contact) he stopped touching him to clasp his wrists and force Bakura off of him. He met Bakura's eyes for a moment, grinning. Marik pounced on him, tackling him to the ground, lying himself directly on top of him.

Marik grinned at him, and held his wrists down. He raised his shirt up and slowly kissed and licked his torso.

The floor hit Bakura's back hard; he winced. His immediate response was to arch his back toward the new source of pleasure; his second was to correct his mistake and still himself. Showing his pleasure was a sign of weakness, he reminded himself. And that bastard's not supposed to be on top of me, he added.

So the spirit commenced struggling against the boy, trying to wrench his wrists out of his grasp; but Marik held fast. Expressing both disapproval and wanton enjoyment, he growled, glaring up at Marik with narrowed eyes and a face that was beginning to flush.

Marik ignored Bakura's struggling and continued holding him down. He ran his tongue along the flattened abdomen and sucked at the skin. Marik rearranged his knees so they were on either side of Bakura's hips, sitting on his thighs.

He raised his head and licked Bakura's cheek, grinning at him and touching their noses, increasing the strength of his grip on his arms.

That he had to consciously control his breathing to make it seem normal annoyed Bakura. That damned boy had him pinned, was teasing him...he shouldn't be giving into this. At all. But it felt amazing.

He scowled back at Marik, weighing his options. He couldn't grind his hips up against Marik's, as Marik was on his thighs...he didn't want to injure him, either...well, Bakura doubted this would work, but it was worth a shot.

"Why exactly are we on the floor?" he asked, voice huskier than usual (if that's even possible). "There is a bed not five feet away."

Marik smirked at him. "For the same reason this whole thing started." He said, a snicker in his voice. He leaned his head down to Bakura's ear and nipped the earlobe. "It seemed like a good idea at the time." he whispered, licking his ear.

Although, he was beginning to wonder why he would have to deal with the floor, when he could be on the bed..

He gave Bakura's neck a quick bite, then shifted off of him, crouching on the floor, waiting for him to get up.

For some reason, this had Bakura laughing.

No sooner had Marik shifted off than Bakura was on him, grabbing him, shoving him onto the bed. Within seconds he was on top of Marik and had yanked his shirt halfway off - in such a way that it restricted the movement of his arms, if only momentarily. Bakura tangled his hands in the yami's wild hair, gripping it tight. Still laughing.

"You're not making this very challenging for me."

"I'm sorry, you wanted me to be difficult? I can do that." Marik hooked his legs around Bakura's and used his strength and momentum to throw Bakura off him. He ripped off his shirt the rest of the way, and grabbed the rod from behind him. He unsheathed the knife once again and pinned Bakura, once again kneeling over him and pressing the knife gently to his throat. "Don't assume I'm a pushover, thief. Even for a moment."

Marik leaned down and licked Bakura's lips, and fisted the handle of the rod. He sloppily slit holes in Bakura's shirt, not caring if he accidentally wounded him in the process. He tossed the rod away, and bit at Bakura's neck.

It was no secret Bakura was sick in the mind, but his masochism never really had a chance to show itself until now. The droplets of blood bubbling up from the fresh cuts decorating his chest made him hiss, squirm. "I never did," he replied, hands still ensnared in Marik's dusty blond hair, mimicking an action that was somewhere between petting and yanking. "Just remember I am a millennia-old spirit with more experience than you could ever dream of..." And you are the product of a sexually immature teenager's angst. But Bakura didn't want to offend, now, did he?

Now that he had Marik on his toes, the spirit could bide his time and wait for the right moment. Trust his thief instincts. Perhaps...a compromise, for now. Yes. After all, being on top and being in control were two different things. "...That blood is going to get sticky. Lick it off."

"Do you see my giving a fuck to your age or experience?" Marik asked, rhetorically. It was true, however, that Bakura had centuries of time whereas Marik was only 7. But this didn't bother him. You didn't have to be centuries old to listen to what your body wanted.

However, Marik was more than happy to be complacent in licking the blood off. He grinned at Bakura and his tongue glided over the precious droplets of blood, savouring the faintly metallic taste.

The sting of saliva on an open wound made Bakura hum lowly in his throat, stroking Bakura's hair in approval. Perhaps he could make this work...perhaps he wouldn't have to waste energy fighting. When he spoke again he added a slight whine to his voice, giving it an almost pleading quality. The tone usually got him what he wanted. Which was - more often than not - to make someone let down their guard.

"Lower."

Marik complied once again and licked and nuzzled lower, not thusfar becoming aware of the position Bakura was putting him into. He was not even forming coherent thoughts anymore. All his brain could put together was wantwantwant. He was highly inexperienced, much to his distaste, and only vaguely knew what he was doing. Because of this, his brain had thrown logic out the window as irrelevant, and he was acting on sheer impulse alone.

He could feel Marik's determination ebbing like the tide; he was giving way, more and more, to Bakura. And he loved it. He allowed himself a chuckle (the sound breathy to accommodate the sensations Marik's mouth was creating), hands tightening on the boy's hair. His hips jerked of their own accord. Impatient.

"Marik...have you ever even given a blowjob?"

"Nh?" Marik raised his head and an eyebrow to look at Bakura. "What do you think."

"I think you are far more naïve in bed than you are out there." In one fluid motion Bakura sat up, positioned so Marik was between his legs, and began to undo his jeans. His wit called for another snide comment, but through the fog clouding his mind he could not for the life of him come up with one.

"Just stop talking." Marik was tired of fighting him. He'd had his moment, he could fight later. He allowed Bakura to continue his actions, while he tangled his fingers in his beautiful white hair, dragging him down to his mouth for another kiss. He was still getting what he wanted, good enough for the moment.

Bakura grinned against Marik's lips, pressing into the kiss, gentler this time. His eyes slid closed as he took one of the boy's hands and guided it up his thigh, wrapped Marik's fingers around his hardness. Just the simple contact made him exhale rather sharply through his nose, and he found his free hand clenching at the sheets beneath him in anticipation.

Marik purred in his throat, vibrating his lips slightly. He didn't want to seem like such a child that he didn't know what to do, so he ran his hand up and down Bakura's length, humming in the kiss as well.

The light touch made Bakura's breath quicken; he had to break the kiss to breathe for a moment. "...Marik, just how far HAVE you gone?" he asked out of curiosity, pleased the words weren't as shaky as he felt (still had that control complex). His hand now wandered across the boy's abdomen, fingertips tracing patterns above the waistline of Marik's jeans.

"I haven't had reason to." Marik said, thoughtfully. "Standards too high." He chuckled. "Usually get to about here." He licked Bakura's cheek again, never ceasing his administrations.

"Well, I'm flattered that - ngh - you consider me worthy of your...services." Bakura exhaled the sentence, concentrating on fingering the buckle of Marik's belt and trying to keep his hips from wriggling. He smirked in spite of himself, realizing how much control he'd relinquished to his partner, and nipped at the yami's ear.

"What you're doing right now is just insufferable teasing. I want you to suck me dry."

Marik chuckled to himself. "Oh yeah?" He bit his neck lightly. "I can't do that if you're pinning me down, my dear." His coherency surprised him- His voice did not shake, nor did his eyeline waver. Marik tilted his hips upwards, into Bakuras and grinned.

Bakura said nothing, but moved to lean back on his hands and smirked. His back was arched, his hips forward, and an eyebrow cocked as if to say, "Come and get it, bitch."

Marik followed suit and sat up, leaning himself over Bakura's midsection, licking from his inner thigh, up the hardened length.

A rugged breath forced its way from Bakura's throat; his eyelids slid nearly shut. The warm, wet pressure against him sent tingles of pleasure up his spine, making that passionate fire within him spark, making his hips lean forward - wordlessly begging for more.

Marik took the tip to his mouth, sucking on it, slowly taking more and more into his hot mouth.

A hand went again to Marik's hair, pressing the back of his head, pushing him lower. Bakura's breath was slowly becoming shallower, beads of sweat starting to form on his forehead. He had to make this last...but...

"...Tongue. Use m-more tongue."

Shit, did he just stutter?

Complying, Marik twirled his tongue around it, coating with saliva. He suppressed a gag reflex and took it deeper into his mouth, swallowing so the wet muscles contorted around it.

"Ngh..." Eyes tightly shut now, concentrating fully on the euphoria Marik's mouth created, Bakura allowed himself a quiet moan. He felt as if he were nearing the edge faster and faster; Marik was damn good for his first time. His hand dragged itself through the blonde locks, stroking, tugging, anything to cope with that building pressure.

But he couldn't come yet. They hadn't even gotten to the main course; why should he fill up on appetizer?

"Fuck...stop."

Marik hummed as he slowly let go. He sat back up and wiped the spittle clinging from his lips off with the back of his hand, and smirked up at Bakura. He felt proud for improvising on the spot, having not done that before. With cockiness emanating from his face, he grinned at him, debating another kiss.

He didn't have to think about it long, because Bakura cupped both hands around Marik's cheeks and pulled him into a fast and sloppy kiss; he could taste the salty sweetness of his own precum in the boy's mouth, and the sensation made him more eager than ever.

His hands left Marik's face in order to yank off the yami's belt, nearly rip open his jeans, and begin to stroke his manhood - fast - all in the space of a few seconds.

When things were sudden, they felt oh so much better.

Marik inhaled sharply with a soft "Agh" trailing it, and breathed out raggedly. His mind, body, and hormones grew desperate; he entangled his hands into the spirit's hair, pulling him as close as he could, anxious for contact. This felt so good, it was intoxicating.

Bakura smirked against Marik's lips, tightening his grip; now he had the boy, quite literally, in the palm of his hand...he could do whatever he wished. He decided to tease him a little.

The thief's fast stroking suddenly slowed to an infuriating crawl; when Marik protested, he would speed back up.

Marik groaned against him, obviously annoyed. His hands grabbed on more tightly, nonverbally begging.

Chuckling, Bakura pulled away from the kiss, hand speeding back up and gripping just a tad tighter. Now that his mind was clearer, he could toy with Marik however he wanted...and he decided he would make that nonverbal begging, verbal.

"Tell me what you want me to do to you."

"Faster." He replied, breathing hard. "Harder." He gritted his teeth and shut his eyes. "Just.. ng, Make me feel good." His eyes screwed themselves shut as tight as they would go, his body unused to the sensations sweeping through his senses.

Gladly," breathed Bakura - who complied, speeding up, before an idea hit him. Immediately, he stopped. His eyes fell on the Millennium Rod, thrown to the floor some feet away. The handle wasn't thicker than a couple of his fingers...

Unable to resist watching Marik's overwhelming want cloud his judgement, Bakura issued him the order he knew the boy would mindlessly follow: "First, go get that Rod."

Marik blinked twice at him, but obeyed. He crawled over to his discarded item and held it loosely, gazing at it. His eyes turned back to Bakura and, locking eyes with him, he made his way back to his original place. He looked from Bakura to the rod and back, not yet making the connection. He was busy living in the moment, however, and cared not for thinking things through.

Bakura pounced. He tore the rod from Marik's hand and shoved him onto the bed roughly, grinning all the while. Now that he thought about it, this had more than one use... "Tell me. Are you a masochist?" Marik struck him as a sadist, but the two often went hand-in-hand.

No sooner were the words out of the spirit's mouth than the handle of the rod went in; he licked at it, tongue greeted by the metallic tang of gold, then wrapped his lips gently around it, coating the end with saliva. His eyes were locked on Marik's the whole time - half-lowered, glazy with thoughts of what he was about to do.

Marik wriggled slightly at being shoved so forcefully- although he wasn't complaining; the rough handling was somewhat of a turn on. "Masochistic?" Marik said, emptily, not concentrating on words as much as he was concentrating on watching Bakura. "I know I'm sadistic- ...But now I think about it, I suppose I must be." He stuck his tongue out to wet his lips unconsciously, keeping his eyes on the spirit.

Bakura took the rod from his mouth and slid the handle off the knife hidden inside. "Good..." he purred. "Either way, we'll soon find out."

One hand went down, slithered between Marik's legs, and prodded gently at his entrance. Bakura was cautious with the rod's handle, sliding it slowly in, because Marik would have something else to concentrate on - his free hand held the knife against the yami's chest, sharpened tip poised against his breastbone.

Another brilliant idea hit him, and Bakura set to work on his masterpiece.

He traced a slow, deliberate circle in the dead center of Marik's chest. The gold tip easily slit his tanned flesh, like a knife through butter; shining droplets of vermillion blood bubbled up through the shallow cuts, dripping, crawling down his skin like tiny liquid snakes. Beautiful.

Marik's breath caught in his chest- his eyes wrenched open as far as they would go. Pain blinded him, he could no longer distinguish shapes, colours, objects. Pain assaulted his mind, coming from between his legs and on his chest. He arched his back, his hands balling into fists and clawing at the sheets below him.

He felt the liquid from inside him drip slowly down his body, and it made him shiver.

Moaning on his exhale, Marik raised one of his hands to his chest, catching some blood. He licked it off his fingers, and pushed himself further towards the foreign object between his legs- somehow loving the searing pain it caused him.

He loved all of it.

The pain and ecstasy clear on Marik's face, the soft, needy sound of his moan, made the blood rush to Bakura's face. Bakura's hand left the handle once the rod was sufficiently submerged; he wrapped his fingers around his own aching hardness and stroked. This was just too hot.

"Relax your lower half...at this rate, you won't be able to take me." His words were breathy, rushed. He watched Marik's tongue dart out to taste the blood as his sculpting hand absently added a triangle to the inside of the circle, strokes quicker this time, more impatient.

He unconsciously complied, relaxing his lower muscles and focusing all his attention on the knife digging in his chest. His fingers traced the pattern that was now on his body into the sheets; he was mesmerized by the shining blood cascading down his sides. He was irritated at having blood on his body that he could neither reach with his mouth nor remove properly, and found himself half wishing Bakura would taste the blood that irritated him so.

"Ngh.."

They were so pretty. Crimson, glittering. Like tiny jewels. Priceless gems, oozing from quickly healing slits, dripping in rivulets down chocolate-brown skin, seeping into virgin sheets. Fascinated with them, Bakura followed the path of one drop down the center of the yami's chest, settling in the groove between his ribcage and abdomen before creeping down his side and out of sight. In his distraction, he absently carved the remainder of his design - five straight lines from the bottom of the circle, pointing down - sloppily. They looked as if they'd been created by the claws of a wild beast. Which, in a sense, they had.

Snapping out of his daze, Bakura sneered, leaning downward. "So beautiful..." he exhaled, almost to himself, before letting the tip of his tongue trace the angry red marks. His eyes locked onto Marik's face, twisted in emotion. Taking in his reaction with a ravenous hunger.

His mouth cracked open, teeth barely exposed. The edges of his lips twitched upward in a kind of pained yet pleasured grin; adoring how the slices in his skin felt burning inside him. He chuckled internally, vaguely lucid enough to wonder of his hikari's reaction once he saw these marks, as he would inevitably see his body once again.

His eyes fluttered open, unfocused, and met Bakura's. His eyes conveyed mixed emotions from the wide variety of feelings possible to express. The most prominent of which was written as clear on his face as if it too had been carved in with the blade of a knife: want.

Pure and unadulterated need flooded him. Without ever looking away from the gorgeous, lustful face, Bakura threw the knife unceremoniously to the floor and sat quickly back up. His hand left his cock and took hold of the rod's handle; knowing Marik (though a virgin) would be sufficiently relaxed at this point, he wasted no time in jabbing it in the direction of his sweet spot. He wanted to see this boy squirm as much as possible - milk him for all he was worth. The more Marik gave, the more Bakura wanted. It was just so...delicious.

"God...you really are so fuckable, you know that?"

Marik's face screwed up in pain as the rod began moving; although accustomed to its presence in his body, he was not used to its moving. He shied away from it, until pain was temporarily removed from his mind and replaced with absolute pleasure- his eyes seeing naught but white. He inhaled deeply, pain creeping on the periphery of his mind.

Bakura's words penetrated his consciousness, and he, unable to focus on his face, shut his eyes. "Do now.." He mumbled, his eyes roaming underneath their lids. "G-...Get the rod out of me."

In one swift movement the rod was gone and Bakura was ready to take its place. He spit into the palm of his hand and hurriedly lathered himself with the makeshift lubricant, every breath rugged, mind reeling. He hadn't had a virgin in so long, he'd almost forgotten...that tight, gripping heat...god, he couldn't wait another fucking second.

Bakura leaned over again, lips attaching themselves to Marik's neck, bodies pressed together, trapping the heat between them - as he slowly, almost to the point of being ginger, slid himself in.

Marik cried out, and bit his lip. Delicious pain... He extended his arms and wrapped them around Bakura, holding him tightly to himself. "Move."

Bakura's teeth sunk themselves into Marik's neck. Those tight walls surrounding him...sliding against him... "You sure?" he asked, lips moving against the yami's skin. "It will...hurt. A lot."

"Did I stutter?" Marik said, voice steady, although inside he was NOT sure. But he'd had excruciating pain before, and he saw no reason for him not to be capable of this.

Bakura pulled almost fully back out again, only the head submerged, and laughed quietly against his lover. "Suit yourself." And slammed back in. And out - and in. Finding a rhythm, he pulled back as far as Marik's grip would allow, watching the yami, gauging his reaction. He honestly wasn't sure whether Marik would be able to handle this, whether his masochism extended so far. But - and here he bit his lip to hold back a groan - if it was too much, he didn't know if he could bring himself to stop.

'OH. MY. GOD.' Marik thought. He had NOT anticipated this much pain all at once! He let out a muffled grunt in attempts to conceal the massive shriek that wanted out of his system. He contained himself; knowing that if it was this painful at the moment, sooner or later he would once again feel the euphoria he was expecting.

Some strange emotion presented itself when Bakura heard the stifled sound. He could not identify it...but it made him pause. His hips twitching at being denied pleasure, the spirit made to speak, but could only groan. "T-...told you..."

Why was he sacrificing his own pleasure to see that Marik wasn't hurt? Usually he used people like tissues; take one, use it, throw it away. Marik...why was Marik any different?

Bakura bit back a whimper.

Marik bit his lip so hard that it bled. He ignored the liquid seeping into his mouth. 'Well pardon me for not believing you!' He wanted to reply. But he knew if he opened his mouth, his cry would escape. He felt his eyes water at the pain. He wanted this to end, he wanted this to continue, he wanted to die before more agony, he wanted to-... he didn't know what he wanted anymore.

He took a moment to compose himself to keep from melting, then gave a stiff nod, conveying his permission for Bakura to continue.

Not completely convinced (and quite skilled at reading pain on people's faces), Bakura remained stationary, frowning. "Not until...you're relaxed," he managed - and then did something quite out of the ordinary. One hand lifted from the sheets beside Marik's head and, gently, brushed the hair from the yami's eyes. His lips pressed against the boy's cheek, then forehead.

Such a display of concern was, to say the least, uncharacteristic. But then, Bakura had learned to always follow his instincts, and that's exactly what he did.

The feel of lips on his cheek and forehead calmed Marik, and he took a deep breath. He was taken aback at the sudden display of gentleness, but found himself grateful for it. He relaxed his muscles and found the pain not to strike him as brutally as it did seconds (which felt like hours) ago. Marik extended a hand to the spirit's neck and brought him down for a quick, thanking kiss. "Okay." he finally responded, the shriek inside him extinguished.

The tone of Marik's voice convinced Bakura he was ready. His hips started their rhythm again, pulling out and snapping back, and he let out a heavy exhale at the surge of pleasure that followed; it felt as if he'd been still for much, much too long.

Even if Marik wasn't as thrilled with the current situation as Bakura was, he did enjoy that his body could make Bakura's feel apparently so good. It hurt still, undoubtably, but Marik found if he breathed in time with his rhythm, and moved his hips to match, the pain began to ebb and he wasn't as stiff in most regards. He longed for Bakura to hit his spot.

And hit that spot, Bakura did. After gaining back some control of his mind, the spirit took a moment to readjust his hips so he could thrust in the direction of the spot he knew would make Marik go wild; and after thousands of years, his aim was dead-on.

This time, Marik could not contain himself. He let out a low-pitched moan filled with ecstasy and released tension. He grabbed on more forcefully to Bakura and arched his back. He moved more with him, finally glad that he endured the excruciating pain. It was worth it to get to this- this feeling.

"...Heh." Now that Bakura found it, he intended to exploit it. Every exhale an under-his-breath moan, Bakura sped up, keeping aligned and on target. His hands curled into fists around the sheets and his face flushed; every thrust send shockwaves of euphoria through him, making him hotter, hungrier - he sucked and licked and bit at Marik's collarbone, shoulder, neck, not caring what sounds he made, lost in his own pleasure.

"Bakura,". Marik wasn't sure if he mouthed it or if he yelled it. He wasn't sure if he cared, either. The feelings he was getting, electrifying his body- they left little room for such trivial things as self-awareness.

"Fuck..." Their extensive foreplay, coupled with the fact that Marik was a virgin, had brought Bakura close, fast. His rhythm was beginning to get rather erratic, and his moans more frequent. "Marik..." He snaked a hand between the two of them, taking hold of Marik, stroking him in time to their dance.

"Nhhg." Marik groaned and closed his eyes. His lips pressed themselves against Bakura's skin (his shoulder, it seemed), and bit down hard. My, were they each going to be covered in love bites when this was over. Each exhale was like a small moan escaping his throat.

A hiss escaped Bakura's lips as he felt skin breaking, followed by a low and drawn-out moan. The sting only accentuated the sweet pleasure that was now sending sparks of color behind his eyelids. "Marik," he groaned again, squeezing slightly as his forehead came to rest against the yami's shoulder. "Tell me...w-when you're - ngh - close."

Marik licked the skin and turned his head to the crook of Bakura's neck. "You're insi-aaaah-ed of me and touching me. How can I no-ahggg-...t be?" He licked his neck in a quick flick and resumed biting his skin.

Bakura swore again. "Then-" His next words were interrupted by a gasp; he entangled a hand in Marik's wild hair and shut eyes eyes tight. "Fuck, I can't take m-much more of this..."

"Good. Because I know I ca-.. nh...can't." He stopped biting and gritted his teeth.

Breath hot against Marik's ear, Bakura leaned in to whisper - because he wasn't sure he could find his voice anymore. "Then...come with me." Both grips tightened. He felt as if he were standing on the edge of the cliff, poised to fall at any moment - with a word, he would step over the edge...

Marik nuzzled the side of his face and licked his cheek. "Gladly." He made little kisses down Bakura's neck, periodically nuzzling with his nose, distracting himself from imminent release.

Bakura didn't just step off that metaphorical cliff, he threw himself off.

A sharp gasp, hands clawing at sheets they might rip at this rate, back arching until he thought it might break, eyes open wide as they would go and he saw nothing but white, blinding snow white, his whole muscles tensing as wave after wave of euphoria racked his body and his hips rocking with every one - "Marik-!"

The sight of Bakura losing it made Marik lose it himself. He threw his head backwards into the bed and writhed as pleasure waves shook through him. The last shock of euphoria coursed through his body, making him feel as though he were exploding from deep in his core, out. He clawed at the air blindly and cried "Bakura!"

Marik clamping down around him like a vice only furthered Bakura's pleasure; the final spasms were punctuated with a long, low moan as the last dregs of ecstasy faded and his vision began to return. His muscles went limp, his hands slack. Too lethargic to even pull out, he lay on top of Marik, half-lidded eyes glazed in his post-orgasm high.

Marik, tired and feeling as exhausted as a work out, wrapped his arms loosely around Bakura's back, smelling the post-coital scent strong on him. He snuggled in the closeness he had made an embrace; Bakura still inside him, and his own arms wrapped around his lover. He had never been so close to someone.

Then his mind began gaining coherency back from the reeling high it was on not too long ago. He began processing fully what had just happened.

Bakura had fucked him. Bakura had fucked him. ... Now what the hell does that mean?

Marik nudged him with his shoulder. "...Bakura?"

Bakura never recovered quite as quickly. His cheek nuzzled against Marik's damp skin, eyes sliding closed, content in a state of half-thoughts and laziness. Marik's nudge did little to stir him. "Mn?"

Marik furrowed his brow in thought. He contemplated saving the conversation for later, but he thought Bakura was likely the kind to leave as soon as cognitive thought was achieved once again. So if they were going to talk, now was probably a good time.. He unconsciously tightened his grip, not wanting to let go.

"Bakura. We just fucked." And HEY.. he never did remember going submissive... "Now what does that mean."

After a moment's pause, Bakura mumbled - mainly to himself - "I guess it means I've found my answer." When Marik's grip tightened, he looked up, meeting the yami's violet eyes. The effect was beginning to fade, but only just. He took another moment to consider an answer, mind still like molasses, and decided to take the easy route: "I don't know. You tell me."

His eye twitched. "Nh," he considered. He didn't see any particular easy way out of this. Marik chewed on his cheek. "I.. don't want to let you go." he said, scowling at verbalizing himself, looking anywhere but at Bakura. He hated when these types of things were said, let alone he, himself saying them.

"Aww." Bakura's lips curled into a lazy grin; he poked absently at Marik's cheek. "Big bad Yami Marik is getting sentimental." Whether he said this to lighten Marik's embarrassment at having made verbal his feelings or for his own amusement, he didn't know anymore.

With a huff, the spirit pulled himself off and out of Marik, relocating to the mattress space next to him in order to meet his averting gaze. His fingertips began to trace light circles on the boy's chest. "...So, what, you want a relationship now?"

Marik made a face at these words. "Well that just sounds like something from some shitty romance movie." His face was still pink, more from embarrassment than anything. He shrugged. "I said it once, I suppose I can say it again. I don't want to let you go." He still refused to meet Bakura's eyes. He wasn't sure at all how he was being received, and he didn't know if he could pull off joking if this didn't work. "I don't want those mushy, gooey, sappy things you see, with the orchestra following them around and skipping through flowers?" He gagged at the thought. "But I don't want to just, I dunno, let you walk away from this, scott-free."

"So you want a relationship." The urge to reach over and kiss away the yami's embarrassment presented itself, but Bakura ignored it for the moment. He chose to remain ambiguous. "What exactly are you asking of me? Because subtract the lovey-dovey parts, and all that's left is sex (in the relationships I've seen, at least). Do you want me to keep fucking you? Or...?" He trailed off, hoping Marik would sort of fill in the blank. Meanwhile, his hand strayed toward Marik's face, and began to twirl around a lock of his hair.

Marik scowled more and grew redder. "I do like the sex." He chewed on his cheek again. Sighing, he said, "Eh. I was wrong I guess. Never mind." He looked at the ceiling, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

Bakura frowned. He leaned in, breathed against his lover's ear. "Come now. I thought you were more assertive than that." At this point, his mouth was overtaking his mind; he didn't have to think to speak, and he liked it that way. No hesitation. "When you want something, you take it. Hell...the other person may just want it, too."

There. His own little confession.

"Well the other person could've helped me out a little instead of making me feel like a jackass." Marik said with a slightly more comfortable tone to his words, teasing Bakura. "Hn." He reached a hand over to Bakura's face and brushed some of the stray hairs out of the spirit's eyes. "If you put it that way." Marik rolled himself enough to gently press his lips to Bakura's. "I want this."

Bakura's grin returned, and he pressed ever so slightly against Marik's soft lips. It wasn't sloppy or needy or hungry, didn't hold any unspoken threats or desires. Just...chaste. Simple. He really, really liked that. "Then it's yours." Then, a thought occurred to him. "...On one condition."

Marik smiled at the first words, and paused at the loophole tacked on at the end. "What condition?"

Bakura broke away to bury his face in Marik's neck, and for the first time in a long time he smiled an actual, true smile. "You get your Ra-damned hikari off my back."

Marik laughed. "I think I can do that." He hummed thoughtfully for a moment. "I seem to remember that same conversation earlier. Went a bit better this time." He grinned.

"Yes, I think I like these terms better." Bakura nuzzled against the boy, sighing in contentment. His instincts had led him, as they always did, to the place he wanted to be. "...Question. What made you kiss me in the first place?"

"Nh?" Marik thought back to try and recall his reasoning. "Hn... You know, I don't really know." He said, shrugging. "I just sort of did it. Wanted something. Took it. I didn't think it would go as far as it did," he said, chuckling and looking pointedly at the bedspread. "But I'm not complaining."

"Neither am I," added the spirit. He had taken to nipping lazy love bites along Marik's neck, feeling rather affectionate in his lingering afterglow. His mind jumped to another thought: "...You know, once I got past your first defenses, you really didn't put up much of a fight."

Marik nuzzled his head against Bakura. "Mmn, I know." He said, with some distaste. "I wasn't really thinking about anything. But believe you me, I shall not let you win next time." He grinned, nudging with his nose.

Bakura had to laugh. In his thousands of years he'd been with countless people, and not one of them had been able to make him submit. He was not going to give up his dominant streak so easily. "We'll see about that," he simply said. With a grin, he sat up, eyes falling on the streaks of dried blood that were beginning to cake to Marik's skin and the milky white droplets that were quickly drying on both their abdomens. It was a pleasant sight, the chaos that resulted from their conjoining, but it was going to be a bitch to get off if they waited much longer. "Mmm. As much as I like admiring my handiwork, we really ought to clean up."


	2. Chapter 2

With a grin, Bakura sat up, eyes falling on the streaks of dried blood that were beginning to cake to Marik's skin and the milky white droplets that were quickly drying on both their abdomens. It was a pleasant sight, the chaos that resulted from their conjoining, but it was going to be a bitch to get off if they waited much longer. "Mmm. As much as I like admiring my handiwork, we really ought to clean up."

"Eh, I guess. But I seem to have lost the will to sit up." Marik said, yawning. "Thank you, by the way, for my chest here. Now I can be scarred on both sides." He snorted. Marik propped himself up on his elbows and looked at himself. What a mess. The mix of colours was almost artistic, he thought amusidly.

"Well, we match now," Bakura said. He reached out to ghost a hand over the crude image of the Ring engraved on Marik's chest, frowning when his hand came away sticky. "I hope it doesn't get infected. We really should tend to it..."

"While it would make a riveting conversation if I ended up in the hospital for an infection, I would really rather not have that happen." Marik chuckled. "Euhh..." He sat up, and threw his legs over the edge of the bed. "Look around for something then, wouldya?"

"I'd love to see their faces, though." Bakura heaved himself up and off the bed, stretching. He attempted to run a hand through his hair, but it caught in the newly formed tangles and he was rather annoyed at having to dislodge it as he made his way towards the bathroom.

"Let's see..."

He searched through the medicine cabinet and came up with bandages and disinfectant. He set them down on the countertop for later use; it needed soap and water first. Bakura stepped back out, made his way to Marik, and tugged on his wrist. "Shower."

Marik grunted and stood, his balance a little off. His ordinarily wild hair felt twice as wild after that. He stretched a bit and followed Bakura to the bathroom. He cocked an eyebrow, looking around, and put a hand on his hip, the other dangling at his side.

No sooner had Bakura turned on the water - it would take a minute to warm up - than he attacked Marik's unruly hair with a comb. "I have to do everything for you, hm?" he teased, but the smile was evident in his voice. You'd never in a million years get him to admit it, but yes, Bakura had a (gasp) nurturing side.

"AGH." Marik said, not expecting his hair to be attacked. Once he felt the comb, he began sulking, folding his arms and his face pulling to a pout. "Yes, apparently."

Bakura just laughed.

Once he felt Marik's mane was sufficiently silky, he poked the boy's scarred back with the comb. "Now, in." He began the process of untangling his own silvery hair, adding with a sneer, "The soap's going to sting like a fucker, but based on what we just did, you'll probably enjoy it anyway."

Marik grumbled partially to himself and partially to mock Bakura, and stepped in. He twitched away from the water slightly- it was still cool enough to make him jump. He shook his hair, getting it wet, and making his spikes go limp. He looked similar if not identical to his hikari, when he had wet hair.

Bakura turned to face himself in the mirror as he brushed his hair, staring himself down. Calm for the moment; thinking. It occurred to him that, if this relationship of sorts were to interfere with his grand plan - collecting the Millennium Items and such - he might be forced to choose between the two. The answer would seem obvious, but again, his heart pointed one way and his brain another. For the thousandth time that night, it seemed, he repeated to himself: trust your instincts.

Bakura set the comb down and stepped in to join Marik. His arms slipped around the yami's stomach, and his cheek rested against his back, between his shoulder blades. There were a thousand things he could have said but none of them seemed meaningful at the moment.

Knowing Bakura couldn't see him, Marik allowed himself a small smile. He enjoyed the spirit's company and physical touch immensely. He wrapped one of his arms around Bakura's, and the other across his chest, resting on his own shoulder. He knew he had said he didn't want to let Bakura go. But he was more afraid of Bakura letting him go.

But from flitting from one existence to the next, blacking out for days at a time, spending weeks alone in soul rooms and living each moment for the future, Bakura was just glad that - for now - he had something to hold onto. He had forgotten what it was like, how very grounded it made him feel. Secure. There.

He wasn't letting go any time soon.

"Marik..." he half-mumbled, eyes slipping closed.

Marik hummed, half acknowledging he heard his name, half just in contentment. He was happy here; he almost didn't want to go back and kill the pharaoh and his stupid friends. He would be happy just spending his time in Bakura's arms. Their odd sort of relationship would more than likely cause him problems. He knew Bakura was after the items, and once he was rid of the Pharaoh, he wasn't sure where he would go, what he would do, or how they would resolve both needing the Rod. Marik didn't know how long they would last, either. He frowned to himself and wrapped his arm around Bakura's more tightly.

The motion made Bakura shift slightly against his lover and tighten his own hold around Marik's midsection in response, to comfort him. He wondered what worrying thought had passed through Marik's mind to make him tense, though he could guess it was similar to his own thought process. Voice resonating off the shower walls slightly, he asked in as soothing a tone as he could manage, "What are you thinking about...?"

Marik sighed. "What's going to happen." He said, bluntly. Bakura was intelligent; clearly he knew that they would have difficulties at best…

Of course. In a slow, fluid manner, Bakura's arms broke from Marik's hold and his hands travelled up his chest, over his neck. He covered the yami's eyes and kissed his back gently. "Don't. Think about the here and now. Think about my hands through your hair, your lips against mine. How wonderful it was to finally trust someone, to join them, so completely. To let yourself go and know there's someone who won't care, who will catch you if you fall, who will love you more for it. Think about the softness, the silence. Live for it. Not for then. For now."

Marik's eyes, covered, softened. He broke away from Bakura's grasp and turned around to face him. Marik stared at him hard in the eyes for a moment, then stepped forward, into him, wrapping his arms around the spirit's waist and burying his face in the crook of the other's neck. "Here and now..." he mused, kissing the skin.

Bakura supposed he should follow his own advice as well and closed his eyes. Arms wrapped around Marik's neck, pulling him close. He took in the smell of the yami's wet hair, the feeling of soft lips pressed against his skin. He could feel the bumps and scars of the markings he'd engraved in Marik's chest, could feel the warmness of the water as it beat gently upon them both. Could feel Marik's warm breath against his neck.

"Here and now," he replied.

Marik nuzzled against him. He rather liked the here and now.

Bakura was so complex. He was constantly thinking and planning and analyzing everything. Marik envied that; he acted out of impulse and urges, with little regard to consequences.

Sometimes, like now, he would think ahead and wonder what he would have to do, but normally, he did not.

Bakura was so simple. Fuck him and he's happy. Marik wondered what went through his mind when he did things, or IF things went through his mind.

Marik decided the spirit was like a Rorschach test. Different every angle you looked at it.

Thoughts stagnant, Bakura eventually brought himself to move. His hands left Marik and felt around for the soap - as his eyes didn't feel like opening anytime soon - and, when they found it, he pulled back just enough to slide them between their bodies. He knew how much it would hurt, and that it was better to get it over with quickly, so he pressed both soapy hands firmly against the pattern carved in Marik's chest at once.

He never bothered himself with the feelings of others. They usually only got in his way, and it was entirely unnecessary to dwell on that which did not concern him. He lived for himself and no one else. Heartbreak and thievery had turned his soul calloused this way, and it had been so long - he could barely remember anymore - since he last let anyone this close. So long since anyone had managed to worm their pitiful way into his life so much that he adjusted it around them. And then here was Marik, streaking into his heart like a bullet. He had known Marik only days. It confused Bakura. It frustrated him.

...Here and now. Dried clots of blood falling away under his fingers. Wet hair against his cheek.

Yes, this was so much simpler.

Marik gnashed his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut tightly. He was glad in a way, that he was in pain. It was easier to focus- easier to stop his thoughts from wandering wherever they pleased. He held his breath as the throbs of pain radiating from the soap pulsated through him. His grip locked; not tightening or loosening, just, tense. He told himself he had worse pain not long ago, and it was necessary for him to go through this if he wanted to get himself cleaned and healed faster. So, making not a sound in protest, he endured the pain ripping through his chest.

"Sorry." As a small gesture of comfort, Bakura's lips ghosted over Marik's exposed neck, leaving gossamer kisses as his hands pressed and rubbed against the wound. He scrubbed at it as quickly as he could, hating how tense his love felt beside him - obviously enduring it with dignity - and wanting to get the job done quickly, but thoroughly. There were a multitude of...distractions he could employ, but they didn't seem quite appropriate for the moment.

When he felt the wound had been sufficiently sanitized - what probably felt like hours to poor Marik - his hands trailed around Marik's sides, going after the trails of blood that had dripped down them and left sticky streaks.

As soon as the immediate presence of the burning soap was removed, Marik exhaled the shaky breath he had been holding for a few seconds (Seconds? Minutes? Marik could never keep track of time when in extremities of pain.) The stinging was still there, but less intense every second. His eyes relaxed and opened a small amount, allowing him to see without seeing. Cleaning the blood streaks obviously didn't hurt a bit, and he liked the feel of the sticky liquid being washed away. "Nhh."

Soon Bakura was cleaning away the other sticky liquid that had dried on their stomachs, and no sooner had he finished than he twirled Marik around in his arms - his chest again against the yami's back - so the water could hit him directly and wash away the tiny bubbles. "A thought," he said suddenly. "Will we act like a couple in the presence of the others? Or remain a dirty little secret?"

"Hn." Marik said in response, thinking. "Well.. I can see ups and downs to both, really. What do you think." He asked. If he made Bakura enter into this relationship, he wasn't going to make him uncomfortable one way or the other. Marik could see the relationship being both a liability and an asset, and he wasn't sure which side he saw weighting more against the other.

"Hmmm." Bakura set about tracing the markings etched on Marik's back absently, weighing each option. "For one, I'd love to see their faces when they saw us." He allowed himself a small smirk at the image - their eyes wide, some trying and failing to look away, the girls probably swooning. "On the other hand, we could use this to our advantage. How, I'm not sure, but it's always good to have an ace up your sleeve..." Marik's neck was beginning to become an incessant temptation, and Bakura found himself kissing it again in spite of himself. "Up - mmn - to you."

God, Marik loved the feeling of Bakura's lips on his skin. Mm, felt good.. Wait, he needed to give an answer, right. "Eh,.." On the one hand, he knew he was going to want to touch Bakura in some way in public, a hand on the shoulder, brushing past him, something. He didn't want to have to cover it up. And of course, he loved toying with people. It could be a great method for intimidation and or straight up screwing with people's minds. Then again, it might be strategically helpful to have a secret association to use should the need arise...

He was selfish though. "I want to screw with people." He said with a grin in his voice.

A cheshire grin spread across Bakura's face. He had half-hoped Marik would pick this route - it was the most fun, and he adored this particular brand of fun quite especially. "I like that answer," he admitted, nipping devilishly at the yami's skin to accentuate his point.

They were both clean now, and Marik's wound cleansed, but the water was warm and he was comfortable and Bakura didn't particularly feel like moving. He simply continued to play with his love's neck in contentment, liking the here, liking the now, and liking that for once things were looking on the up and up.

Humming, Marik reached behind him to attempt to put his arm around Bakura's back. He frowned, unhappy with this. Marik turned back around again to face Bakura and placed his hands on his chest. His eyes followed his hands, rubbing and feeling the slippery, slick texture. "Mnh, Bakura?" Marik said, not even looking him in the face, too preoccupied with the chest in front of him. "I know we just did it.. but I'm not completely done with you." He finished, grinning. Bending down slightly, he kissed along Bakura's collar bone.


	3. Chapter 3

Humming, Marik reached behind him to attempt to put his arm around Bakura's back. He frowned, unhappy with this. Marik turned back around again to face Bakura and placed his hands on his chest. His eyes followed his hands, rubbing and feeling the slippery, slick texture. "Mnh, Bakura?" Marik said, not even looking him in the face, too preoccupied with the chest in front of him. "I know we just did it.. but I'm not completely done with you." He finished, grinning. Bending down slightly, he kissed along Bakura's collar bone.

Bakura's eyebrows disappeared into his bangs. "Round two?" His hands slid around Marik's neck once more and trailed down his back with a feather-light touch, hoping to enduce goosebumps. He grinned. "I'm game."

His chest moved of its own accord, leaning into Marik's touch, but his hands quickly made his intentions known as they clamped tightly on the yami's ass. "...But you're still not going to get me to be uke."

Despite the warm environment from the water and steam, Marik shivered. "Hmmm, let's just see, shall we?" He said, flashing a grin. The shower was not very big, and Marik only had to push for a little bit to back Bakura up against a soaking wall. He continued rubbing his hands against Bakura's chest and bit and sucked at his neck, making little noises at having his ass groped.

It was less the neck abuse than the beautiful sounds coming from Marik's mouth that were turning the spirit on more and more. His hands squeezed, rubbed, anything to keep them coming; his eyes slid closed and he shuttered at the contrast of the cold linoleum tile wall against his back and the heat against his front. For a moment a thought flitted through his head - maybe, just this once, he could try it - but his pride extinguished the idea before it could spark. No way.

Being touched instead of doing the touching did feel damn nice, though.

A feeling of deja vu sunk into Marik, and he smirked to himself. He cupped the spirit's face in his hands and kissed him, pressing his lips forcefully onto the other's. He ground his hips into Bakura's, and hummed in the back of his throat.

A moan bubbled up from Bakura's throat. He couldn't help it. His hands mirrored Marik's, moving to either side of the yami's face as if to hold him there, and he pressed back into the kiss as roughly as he could; his hips ground back against Marik's, craving more and more of the euphoria that was beginning to spark from the friction.

The sound of Bakura moaning.. It sent vibrations through his mouth and a shiver down his back. He loved that he could and when he could induce the amazing sound. His lips moved against Bakura's, and his hands wandered back past his jawbone. One lost itself in the soft, wet tresses of his hair, and the other rubbed and massaged the back of the spirit's neck surprisingly gently. He kept grinding his hips.

The way Marik rubbed his neck made Bakura visibly relax, shoulders lowering, hips slowing in distraction. It felt so damn good, he almost lost the will to fight back, not wanting to give up the feeling at all; but Bakura was Bakura. That he was so willing to give up frightened him, and subsequently gave him the willpower to react, no matter how tired he was. It took a tremendous amount of effort to give up that touch, but with one motion he gripped Marik hard by the shoulders - broke the kiss - and wrenched him around, switching their positions.

His knee rested against the shower wall beside Marik's hip, anchoring him somewhat. His forehead leaned on his partner's, and his hands immediately strayed southward - palming his thighs, tracing his hip bones - touching everything they could except what Marik wanted most. Bakura swallowed.

"Not so fast, tomb-keeper."

Marik's head dropped and he concentrated on not letting any sounds out. Not a pleased moan at the touches, not an irritated growl at not having attention where he wanted it, nothing. He took a deep breath before raising his head to look at Bakura. His eyes narrowed and his mouth stretched into a wide grin. "I'm not going to give up, tomb-robber." He stuck his tongue out of the side of his mouth in his grin, not allowing Bakura to see he was getting to him. "I'm not going to lose."

Bakura took the opportunity to lick the protruding tongue, hands coming to a stop on either of Marik's hips. "I haven't lost in five thousand years," he replied, "and I'm not going to start now."

Holding the yami's hips firmly in place, Bakura ground his own against them, and all at once he dived for Marik's neck and sunk his teeth firmly into the tanned flesh, easily drawing blood. Now that he got the ball rolling, Bakura was finding it easier to concentrate on dominating and on keeping his ego well inflated. He knew Marik was enjoying this; his challenge now was to get the boy to admit it.

Think that all you like, Bakura. Marik thought, smirking. When the teeth hit his neck, he clenched his stomach muscles and shut his eyes, not even allowing himself to breathe lest a noise be made. His hands reached for Bakura's back, brushing his fingertips against it, then raking his fingernails against his back, leaving red scratches standing vivid against the white flesh.

The sting of nails scraping down his back sent chills down Bakura's spine; he could feel the angry red welts begin to take form. His back arched away from the touch instinctively. It felt almost like pins and needles, but Bakura quite enjoyed it.

To distract himself, the spirit concentrated on the coppery taste flooding his mouth, metallic and sharp on his tongue. Like a vampire, he sucked the wound dry and licked away the excess, pressing himself all the while against Marik. He felt the taunt muscles and spoke.

"Why so tense? I know full well you're enjoying this...fooling yourself into believing you aren't isn't going to do a thing." He leaned down, trailing kisses along Marik's jawline, neck, collarbone. "You and I both know that."

His head leaned away from the kisses, exposing more skin, lips slightly parted. "I know full well I'm enjoying this." He said, his eyes ghosting shut. "I'm just being intentionally difficult for you."A grin entered his voice. "I'm not going to make this easy." He locked his hands at the small of Bakura's back and held him there tightly.

"Hmm." Bakura paused for a moment, cogs turning in his mind. He leaned in again to whisper in Marik's ear, breath hot and lips moving against it, voice low and forceful: "There are so many things I could do to you right now. I was planning on making my way down your chest, trailing kisses, licking patterns across your abdomen, and nibbling at your inner thighs until you couldn't stand it anymore...and when you were panting so hard you could barely breathe, face flushed, knees weak, I was going to lick along your sensitive underside...tongue your tip...wrap my lips around your head and suck so lightly, so gently, you couldn't help but grab onto me and beg for more. Then I could have given in and taken every inch of you in, bobbing my head, sucking hard, using my tongue to my advantage...and JUST when you reached the breaking point, seconds before you fell over the edge and gave into the euphoria racking your body, I'd stop.

"I'd stand back up, claim your lips, and wrap a hand around your aching hardness. And it would just rest there, stationary, until you'd calmed enough for me to sneak my hand around you, lift your thigh, and pry at your entrance. I'd find your sweet spot immediately, of course, and you'd go right back to bucking and moaning as I pressed it, rubbed it, thrusted my fingers against it. Again and again. You'd protest when I pulled them out, of course, so far gone in your world of ecstasy, but when I replaced them with my cock and wrap my fingers around you and press you into the wall and fuck you for all you're worth, then I think you'd be happy."

Bakura placed his hands on Marik's arms as if moving to pry them off so he might move. "But...I only like doing these things when I can see and hear that my uke is enjoying them. Too bad for you, I guess."

Marik's eyes were open now, and glazed over. His arms kept locked, unmoving. When Bakura was finished and making to move his arms, he snapped out of it and held him tighter. "Do you have any idea how much I fucking hate you?" Marik asked, glaring at Bakura. He couldn't make a speech like that and leave him empty. Marik quickly brought his hands up to Bakura's head, attached his fingers to the roots of his hair, and crashed their mouths together, Marik hungry and desperate. HatehatehatehateHATE.

Bakura's witty answer was stifled by Marik's mouth, and he found himself simply laughing into the ravenous kiss. That always did the trick.

Hands latched onto nipples, tweaking, rubbing; his tongue slithered into Marik's mouth, mimicking the motions he'd just finished describing against the yami's tongue; he slammed their hips together, rubbed, ground, practically humped. Every fiber of his being was now devoted to milking the boy, wanting the sounds and the sights that sent Bakura's blood rushing downwards. His kiss hard, his muscles tense, his movements erratic, it was glaringly obvious how much he wanted this, too.

A low moan that had been building finally burst through Marik's lips. He broke free of the kiss long enough to whisper barely audibly, 'Bakura..' before attacking the other's mouth once again. His virginity had been taken from him earlier that evening by a 5,000 year old evil spirit, and he was about to get fucked for the second time in one day. In a shower, no less. He was a classy one.

The sound was music to Bakura's ears. Unwillingly, he let a muffled moan of his own escape into the kiss; however, he made up for it by stealthily slipping his hands along Marik's shoulders, down his arms...and wrapping his fingers around the slender wrists.

He pulled the yami's hands from his silver hair and pinned them above his head - slamming them forcefully against the shower wall - and gave him one last hard kiss before breaking away and staring him down. Still grinding his hips.

He would push the boy to his limits.

"Now tell me, Marik. What is it you had in mind exactly?" You could hear the shit-eating grin in his voice.

Grunting at the force of the pin and the sudden departure of lips from his own, Marik glared up at Bakura from his position, slammed against the shower wall. "You can't turn me on like that and then leave me be." He growled and knew in the back of his mind he was going against what he had told himself he would do, and said, "I want it. Fuck with me, already." He hated himself for giving up, but damnit, what he had said sounded so appealing... "Don't torture me."

"And why not?" asked Bakura, hips coming to a halt. "Torturing you is so fun."

He dived for Marik's neck again, licking, sucking, biting, kissing his way downward. He lowered Marik's arms to his sides, still pinning them down, as he migrated from the boy's collar bones to his newly scarred chest (taking extra time to outline the pattern with his tongue and tease his perked pink nipples) to his built abs to his abdomen. Eventually he lowered himself to his knees, and he looked upwards at Marik expectantly as he nuzzled and licked at the yami's thighs and hip bones. Teasing.

"You fucker." Marik growled as he looked down at Bakura. He inhaled and grabbed onto Bakura's hair. "Nh, While I am most enjoying this, what makes you think I won't pin you while you're down there?"

"Ngh." Bakura licked the tip of Marik's hardness once, then went back to working the soft surrounding skin. "Because if you try to hold me down, I will walk away and leave you to pleasure yourself. 3" In one word, a bluff. But Bakura knew how to keep the boy submissive, and damned if he wasn't going to exploit that.

His hand slid up to Marik's wrist to pry it off his head so he could pin it down again, but when Marik held tight - meaning he'd have to pull out his own hair to get the yami's hand off - Bakura scoffed. Fine. Have your victory. It's a small one.

Insufferable, stubborn man. But fine. He wanted to pull that, fine. Marik decided he would wait until Bakura was comfortable in dominance before trying again in ripping it from him. So he smirked internally and sat back and made little noises at parts skin being unfamiliarly played with. Because for now, he allowed himself; Bakura made him feel damn good. The hand latched in his hair moved around and toyed with the roots in various places, finger tips grazing the nape of his neck. But he was always ready to latch on again should Bakura move to remove his hand.

Bakura stared up at Marik, immediately suspicious. Now, he didn't know the boy all that well yet, but he didn't think he would have given up so soon; nonetheless, the sounds he was making sent twitches of pleasure through his body, and the fingertips at his neck sent shivers down his spine, so he refrained from complaining. Instead he let his hands rest on his lover's hips and - eyes still locked on Marik's - dragged his tongue in one slow, sensual lick up his sensitive underside, taking an hour to get from base to tip; Bakura's lips ghosted over the head for a moment, and he exhaled warmly before taking it into his mouth and sucking softly.

Marik's back arched and his free hand pressed palm side to the wall behind him, helping him maintain a sense of stability, because he felt like melting. "Shit." He spoke, barely above a whisper. "A-.. Fuck."

Were his mouth not otherwise occupied, the spirit would have grinned. His hands pressed lightly on Marik's hips as he tongued the yami's slit, licking around his head, applying just the gentlest bit of suction - watching his lover all the while, not able to get enough of that euphoric expression, those clouded eyes, that flushed face. The deadly quiet pleas were arousing enough to make his thighs tense and relax, his toes curl; he debated assuaging the feeling, but decided dragging it out was better in the long run.

With no warning but a flash of the eyes, Bakura dipped his head, taking literally all of Marik into his mouth at once (to say he was experienced at deep-throating was an understatement) and pressing with his tongue and sucking hard.

"Mnhhhh,..." Marik's eyes closed as he moaned at the euphoric feeling spreading through him. "Ra.." The beautiful feeling and knowing what was happening to cause it made him begin to sprint closer to the edge. He knew he had to stop him before he fell, but he still had some restraint left. He grabbed at Bakura's hair again.

Bakura could hear the urgency edging into Marik's voice and knew he would have to back off if he wanted to keep hearing those beautiful sounds. At feeling his hair being grabbed, he made a vague "mmn" sound in the back of his throat, closed his eyes, and gave one last, long, hard suck before letting go with a soft 'pop' sound.

His hand replaced his mouth, fingers wrapping around and stroking ever so slowly, ever so gently. Still on his knees, the tomb-robber leaned back and looked up at Marik with eyebrows raised, expectant.

Marik groaned again. "Fuck, Bakura." He said, looking at him with glazy eyes. "Come here." he motioned with his hand, beckoning him towards his face.

Mindlessly obediently, Bakura did as Marik motioned, standing back up. His hands relocated to the boy's waist and he pressed his forehead against the other's, lips hovering just centimeters away. "Mm?"

Marik seized Bakura's shoulders and pushed him to the opposite wall, not far away, and forced his lips on the spirits yet again. He closed his eyes and attempted to convey the multitude of emotions that plagued him, sending them through his lips and tongue, trying to get them to reach the thief. His grip was strong, and his lower half melded into Bakura's, forbidding movement.

ShitshitSHIT

He let down his fucking guard and - with some dissatisfaction, Bakura discovered he couldn't move his hips at all, trying to pry Marik off did nothing, and his attempts at protest were quickly muffled. He was pinned.

He would have been pissed, would have done anything to reclaim control at that point, but...Marik's kiss made him still. The desperation, the raw emotion that it transcribed, was almost overwhelming; and despite himself, Bakura found that he was slowly relaxing, slowly giving in. It took a few hesitant moments, but his eyes slid closed, and he kissed back with just as much want, hands coming to rest on the tombkeeper's shoulders.

It was okay to give in for now, he reasoned. He could always take back control in a little while. He didn't particularly want to analyze the possibilities right now, just concentrate on the present. The velvet feel of a tongue writhing against his. The shock of pleasure that jolted him when his hips were pressed against his lover's.

When he felt Bakura relax more and kiss him back, Marik's grip loosened. He thought Bakura could use some attending to; after all, he was basically just given a blow-job and he had yet to see to Bakura's own pleasure in that area. Grinding works, but not as effectively as other methods. He pried their hips apart and slid a hand down the spirit's chest, gliding across his abdomen, twirling about his hips, and finally stopping at the pelvic region, twirling patterns with feather light touches. He caressed him once, then wrapped his whole hand around, stroking him and cupping his neck with his other hand.

A sharp gasp made Bakura pull back from the kiss for a split second for air. He hadn't been touched like this in so long, he'd forgotten the feeling...and how goddamn fantastic it was. The anticipation from Marik's teasing had left him breathless, his face burning, and the sensations the stroking created made his hips lean into a touch, a silent plea.

And it would remain silent if had anything to do with it; he still had one last shred of dignity onto which to cling.

Grinning, Marik nuzzled and kissed down Bakura's jawline to his neck. His hand tightened in grip slightly, and sped up. The other wormed it's way to the thief's chest and played with his nipples.

Feeling lucky and not wanting to press his luck, Marik decided not to try and gain verbalization from Bakura. Words, at least. He sure as hell wanted to make his lover moan for him.

Shit. Bakura turned his face away and down, chin nearly touching his shoulder, and choked back a moan. His hands tightened their grip on Marik's shoulders, giving him away; as if the closed eyes and blush on his cheeks weren't enough. His breathing was beginning to shallow and he cursed himself for being so easy - he could have sworn he had more self-control than this.

"Bakura.." Marik said in a low voice, a finger tracing small circles across his chest. "I can tell you like this. I promise, it's okay to." He nuzzled his face in Bakura's neck, hand slowing down to give him a chance to speak to him. He was going to keep at this; he wanted to dominate, but he also wanted Bakura to feel good. And even though he was trying not to show it, Marik knew he was succeeding. The grip on his shoulders, his face flushed and turned away, the shallow breaths, all signs he was trying to resist- it was as hot as it was irritating.

"Goddammit, Marik." Bakura's eyes snapped open and he glared harshly at his partner, obviously resenting the whole situation. Hating that Marik had been able to take control of him, yes, but he hated himself more for the weakness he was feeling, the want, the lust that was making him unwilling to fight back. "Just...fuck." He didn't know how to put it in words.

So he simply slid a hand to the back of Marik's head and pulled him into a kiss, speaking with surprising conviction against his lips. "I told you - I don't - do submissive. This - is the best you're - getting." He pulled back and at the same time placed his hand over Marik's stroking one, stopping it. "If you want to make me give up my dignity...you're going to have to try a lot harder."

...Shit. Why'd he say that.

Marik just grinned at him. He bent his head against Bakura's; his face so close that his lips grazed Bakura's with every word he spoke. "Tell me 'no' all you want, Bakura. It will just spur me on further." If the pure lust he felt didn't burn through his eyes enough, he rubbed the proof of his extreme want against the spirit's thigh, and exhaled warm breath against him. "You're mine, Bakura, just as much as I'm yours. Tell yourself differently, tell me differently, I'll still believe it."

"Fuck you," Bakura hissed, eyes narrow, dangerous. Marik's actions extracted a moan from him - of course that was what always did it, knowing his partner was enjoying him - but the spirit rebelled in his own way, rubbing that thigh against him. "Nobody owns me, not in this. I'm no one's bitch." The thief had never really stopped to consider why he felt so strongly about this, but he supposed it had something to do with power.

Acting on impulse, his tongue flicked out to lick Marik's lips, and he smirked.

Marik was undeterred, still grinning. "Say what you want, I'm not really listening." He stuck his tongue out too and licked Bakura's lips, outlining them with his tongue. He slunk one of his arms around Bakura's back, forcing contact. "Frankly, you could say you were the Queen of England and the Sultan of Salt Water Taffy and I'd still be trying to take you."

Ugh. He felt like smacking the boy.

Instead Bakura dived for his neck, nipping and biting at it like a dog gnawing on a bone. As Marik was speaking, he'd been able to sneak a hand down the yami's back, and now he used it to his advantage - groping and massaging his ass, hoping to gain a foothold. He dared to open his mouth again and let out whatever words happened to be on his tongue.

"Well, if you're going to take me, then fucking do it already."

Marik let out a sound similar to a hum. He mimicked Bakura's hand movements on him, on the spirit- rubbing, squeezing- moving slowly lower on his ass towards his entrance, giving him plenty of time to speak up. "Bakura."

He wanted to do this so badly, but he hated himself for it. His instinct screamed to take back control but his body didn't want to cooperate. Conflicted, Bakura lowered his eyes, trying to manage some quick thinking; he'd never bottomed because he subconsciously saw it as a sign of weakness, and he'd never been interested in it because he got off from the power of dominating another. He was reluctant to break this streak, if only for his stubbornness, but he also could not deny the mindset that had been ingrained in him for as long as he could remember.

When he imagined Marik fucking him, his cheeks burned with what he could only assume was humiliation. His mind reasoned, Just try it. Just once. Maybe it's not as bad as you think it is.

His instincts screamed at him to abort.

For once, he ignored them.

"Marik...just..." He sighed. Gripped his shoulders for support. "Please. Quickly."

In a split second, several thoughts came to Marik's mind. Hatred, affection, irritation, patience. He couldn't act on all of them, so he chose none and acted on purely what his body wanted, trusting Bakura would stop him (even though it would be hard as fuck) if he was too uncomfortable with his actions or himself. "Lift your leg."

Mechanically Bakura lifted his thigh to rest against Marik's hip and wrapped his arms around the boy's neck to pull him closer for support. His hardness brushed the other's, making him shudder. "...My vessel is a virgin," he said, distracting himself by playing with the hair on the nape of his lover's neck, "as am I - in this regard, at least. Be...gentle."

Marik uttered a breathy chuckle. "As much as I can." He responded, nuzzling against him as he drew his hand back, flinging it into the water. He shook off the excess wetness and his hand then retreated down Bakura's back, grazing the skin. Not playing around, Marik's fingers halted at Bakura's entrance, letting their presence be gotten used to, before sticking in a finger.

The feeling was not exactly pleasant. It didn't hurt, but it was...alien. Uncomfortable. It made him cling onto Marik a bit tighter, chin resting on the boy's shoulder, cheek to cheek. Some odd emotion was rearing its head, making him shiver and close his eyes, and Bakura hoped the yami couldn't feel his cheeks burning.

Feeling the spirit's grip on him tighten, Marik mumbled "Sorry.." and leaned his cheek against Bakura's. He slipped in another finger and scissored around, stretching him, like the rod did for himself.

It took some getting used to, but a few halfhearted mumbles of protest later Bakura found himself panting, curling his toes, leaning into Marik's touch. His mind was not comfortable with the situation, but his body soothed its worries, clouding it with want. After a while, he segued from weighing options in his head over and over to thinking just one word: more.

Marik kept at it, adding a third, and stretching his long fingers, looking for the spot in addition to preparing him. He didn't want to embarrass them both by not being able to find it when it counted. His other hand splayed itself across Bakura's thigh.

Ecstasy. White-hot, blinding for just that instant.

In his five thousand years Bakura had never felt pleasure quite like this, quick and intense and wonderful; screw being obstinate, that felt fucking amazing! No wonder his ukes always fell apart when he toyed with them this way.

A tightened grip and a sharp gasp were the only indicators of Bakura's pleasure. A moment of silence, and then: "Again."

He'd found it. Grinning, Marik pushed at the same place he had a moment ago. He remembered how he had loved it when Bakura had found his, so he pushed hard, intent on sharing the gloriously amazing feeling he knew his lover had to be feeling at his touch.

Fuck. This pleasure was paralyzing.

Unwillingly, Marik's name escaped Bakura's lips in a half moan, and his nails dug slightly into the boy's tanned skin. His reluctance was all but gone now, replaced by desire, and he no longer paid any attention to the vague feeling of humiliation that had wormed its way into his mind earlier. This wasn't about dominance and submission anymore, just euphoria.

Satisfied with the reaction he was receiving, Marik slowly withdrew his fingers. He shoved Bakura hard against the wall to attempt to balance him, as he repositioned himself. Keeping one arm pinning Bakura's chest so he wouldn't slip, and the other at Bakura's hip, he made the spirit lift his legs around himself, ensuring a good, stable grip. He lined his cock up with the thief's entrance and looked at him in the eyes. "Ready?"

"As I'll ever be," Bakura replied, keeping his legs tight around Marik's waist to hold himself up. The feeling of him pressing against his entrance made the spirit tremble for a moment; but looking into his eyes, having that connection, quelled whatever fear he may have felt. The times that caused him to have this uneasiness...then, there had never been anything so personal. A hand lifted to cup the yami's cheek. "Look me in the eyes the whole time," he said, quietly.

Bakura didn't know how beautiful he was, did he. Marik wanted to kiss him so badly, but he couldn't afford to move, lest he drop him. "Gladly." He responded, keeping eye contact. Slowly, gently, Marik slid himself in, his lavender eyes firmly locked upon Bakura's smooth brown ones.

Marik was certainly...more than the fingers. Bakura's immediate reaction was to tense, but that only made it worse, so he forced himself to relax, grimacing slightly. His eyes fell thin, his cheeks colored, and he remained still - panting slightly - getting used to the foreign feeling. It was odd. It was invading. But it was amazing.

Eventually, he gave a slight nod, indicating without words that he was okay. He wanted to feel this new pleasure, wanted to experience what he'd missed out on for so long.

The original words Bakura spoke to him before still rang in his ears. "Be... gentle." But that amazing feeling HE now had that he had never experienced before was almost overwhelming. Tight, gripping heat surrounding him...

His eyes still locked on Bakura's were strained, controlling himself. At Bakura's nod- although the sincerity level of his readiness, Marik was still unsure about- he pulled himself back out almost completely, and slammed into him again, loving the feeling that spread through him.

"Ngh...!"

Electrifying. Euphoria spreading through him, eyes opening wide, gasping - Bakura gripped onto Marik, so glad he'd let himself do this, wanting more, more, more. From the first thrust he knew this was going to get him off fast, and he found himself shifting his hips as best he could to complement Marik's movements, searching those beautiful violet eyes of his.

Panting, struggling for breath, face flushed, both hands now grabbing Bakura'as hips for support and to help guide his hips as he thrust in and out, pounding into him. Nearly blinded by pleasure, the only things he could make out were those gorgeous brown eyes staring back at him. A moan broke through his lips.

He knew he wasn't going to last for too long- these sensations overwhelming- but he wanted Bakura with him when he gave out, so he did everything in his power to slow his sprint to the edge, short of physically slowing or looking away.

"Oh god..." A loud moan and a buck of the hips indicated Marik had hit his sweet spot; the pressure building in Bakura's abdomen was almost unbearable, his senses flooded with ecstasy, and he couldn't help but reach down to wrap a hand around himself, adding to his pleasure. That he couldn't arch his back from this position was infuriating, but he made up for it by squeezing his legs around Marik's waist and curling his toes.

"Marik..."

Vaguely noticing the blob-like shape of Bakura's hand move down to himself in his periphery was irritating to Marik- he wanted to do that, but he couldn't if he wanted to keep him slammed to the wall. But it was completely made up for with Bakura's moan and the sound of his name on the spirit's tongue. Noises from Bakura might as well have been crack, Marik was so addicted to them. Wonderment flooded through his nerves, spreading through his body, setting him ablaze from the inside. He thrust harder.

"Fuck!"

Every thrust made his head swim and sent sparks before his eyes; he could barely see. But the euphoria plain on Marik's face, the rapture clear in his eyes and his unrelenting gaze, was clear enough. Coupled with the absolute bliss that was overwhelming his senses, every thrust prying a moan from his lips - it was too much. He went over the edge.

His eyes finally closed as Bakura tossed his head back, crying out in ecstasy. The grip he had on Marik's shoulder went from tight to bruising; every muscle in his body was as taunt as a drawn bow. No doubt Marik had brought out the uke in him.

Keeping his word, Marik did not look away from the face of his lover, and nor did he want to. The pure expression of absolute ecstasy laced euphoria was enough for Marik. He said his thief's name and fell over the edge, himself, hanging injuringly tight to Bakura's hips, enjoying the last of his feel of being inside his partner for the first time.

The last throes of ecstasy ran their course; panting and exhausted, Bakura went limp, arms slipping from their places and hanging at his sides. His head wanted to loll to the side and his eyes felt too heavy to open, but through sheer willpower he opened them, staring back at his lover's. He craved the intimacy of eye contact, now feeling - of all things! - vulnerable.

Marik's eyes kept at Bakura's, surprisingly soft. Exhausted himself, he found the strength to move his hands from Bakura's hips and wrap his arms arms around his waist, continuing to support him. He had recovered quickly the last time, but this time, he was too tired to even speak just yet.

The movement of Marik's arms brought their position back to Bakura's attention, and with great lethargy he unwrapped his legs from around Marik's waist, setting his feet gently back on the floor. They didn't last long. He draped his arms around the Egyptian's neck and pulled him down until they were sitting on the tile, still gazing at one another, the steam still pouring from the warm water making it hard to breathe.

Breathing shallowly from the steam, Marik was thankful for sitting on the ground, not having to use his legs for support. The ends of his lips twitched at thinking how clean up is much easier when you're in the shower to begin with. He still stared at his beautiful spirit, and with the precious little energy he had, he lifted a hand to brush some of the thief's soaking hair out of his face, leaving his emotional gaze unobstructed.

A hand lifted to cover Marik's. Bakura gave a soft smile, hoping in that instant he conveyed all the emotions swirling like a fog in his head - affection, satisfaction, gratitude - before his hand fell, his eyes slid closed, and he drifted into a shallow half-sleep, emotionally and physically exhausted.

Marik smiled. He withdrew his hand and slumped against the wall, resting. He stared up at the shower nozzle, and couldn't find the will to turn it off. Instead he stared at it, half hoping it would do so itself if he looked at it long enough. He was semi-conscious, sitting naked in a shower, and so tired he could almost fall asleep right there. He sighed and reached a hand up to turn the water off, and decided that was enough work for now. So he closed his eyes and told himself that he was only going to rest, just for a little bit...


	4. Chapter 4

When he regained consciousness, Bakura did not know just how long they had been lying there. It felt as if he'd only closed his eyes for a second or two, but his hair was completely dry, which meant it had been quite some time.

Slowly, his eyes opened. His first sight was a beautiful sleeping Marik, and he smiled, admiring him. After a while he began to move, then cringed; both his neck and nether regions were sore. Standing, the spirit stretched, content - and then, as he glanced over at the counter, it hit him. They'd forgotten Marik's wound.

Movements quiet (a skill his life as a thief had perfected), he took the antibiotic in hand and sat himself as gently as he could on Marik's thighs, setting about spreading the ointment with a fingertip over the red marks.

The cool feeling on his chest and abdomen woke Marik and he frowned, not opening his eyes. His first thought was the shower had come back on. But as he felt for another few seconds, he realized it was an appendage smoothing a gooey substance on him. Paying attention further, he felt weight on his thighs. He had only been out a few minutes, hadn't he? Then what was-

He opened his eyes groggily to see Bakura spreading the antibiotic over the angry red markings on his chest. Oh. "Fuck." Marik said, watching him, and finally becoming aware of the soreness and stiffness he felt in his muscles.

"Hello to you too," Bakura replied, back to his usual sarcastic self. He met Marik's eyes for a moment, grinning, before continuing his work. "Sore?"

Marik cracked his neck and yawned, stretching. "Let's see. I had sex twice, and fell asleep in a shower." He shot Bakura a look. "Yeah, bit sore." His joints popped whenever he moved- he must have been out a while.

Bakura chuckled. "Not sure how long we were here, but it must have been an hour at least." Finished, he screwed the cap back on and stood, offering Marik his hand. "Up."

Marik grunted when he took his hand to stand. He wobbled a little, but stayed on his feet. He stepped out of the shower and scratched the back of his head. "What time is it?"

"Fuck if I know." Bakura had already gone for the bandages. He lifted Marik's arms and began wrapping them around his chest, flipping his head to get the hair out of his eyes. "I'd guess close to midnight."

"You're a world of help, thank you. Although that seems about right." He watched Bakura work. "I hope that doesn't scar." he chuckled.

"So, question, How are we going to play this tomorrow...er, today? I want the biggest reaction I can get." He grinned.

"It probably will," Bakura mumbled almost to himself. Then, louder: "We have to take them completely by surprise, and with something...graphic." He grinned as well, imagining the possibilities. "We wait until all eyes are on one of us, then attack each other. A kiss and an ass grab will do the job, I think."

Marik ignored the first comment. He instead laughed loudly at Bakura's suggestion. "Love it." He said, still chuckling. "Well. That will be fun. .. Especially since we aren't known to be buddy-buddy even slightly thusfar."

Bakura tucked in the slack and set the remainder of the bandages back on the counter. "I don't think anyone has even seen us interact. Hmph." He picked up a comb and idly started to detangle his hair - leaving it to dry without combing it was a bad idea. "It would be fantastic if it became a distraction to our opponents in a duel." He could just imagine it. _Can't...concentrate...thinking of Bakura and Marik fucking..._

"It's an absolute win for us." Marik grinned, folding his arms and leaning against the door post, watching Bakura. "Enemies being distracted during a duel by the thought of us fucking. And afterwards, actual fucking." He laughed. "Which is pretty damn nice."

Bakura cackled. "That it is." He set the comb down, turning to Marik. "Just don't expect me to be uke again, hm?"

Marik smirked in disbelief. "Unbelievable. You stubborn son of a bitch." He laughed. "You liked it, and you know you did." He grinned smugly, knowing he was right and refusing to listen to Bakura's remarkable stubbornness.

Bakura crossed his arms and closed his eyes, assuming the defensive. "Perhaps. It was a decision made in the heat of the moment. I'd rather not repeat it." It hurt his pride, though, it really did. Damned if he was going to admit it had felt fucking amazing.

"Liar." Marik kept smirking. "I know how good it feels. You can't try and pass off like it didn't."

The thief's next words were mumbled. "For my body, maybe." He hmph'd. "Either way, it doesn't matter. I'm going to be the one doing the fucking from now on out." He added a smirk, for good measure.

"If it makes you feel better to think that you'll never feel that amazing again, fine by me." Marik chuckled, yawning. He didn't have a doubt in his mind that he would take Bakura again.

Marik's arrogance made Bakura want to smack him. "What if I say no next time, hm?" He walked up to the boy, poking him in the chest. "What will you do then?"

Marik held, still smirking, unwavering. "Simple." He said. "You won't."

"Feh!" Bakura scoffed, narrowing his eyes and glaring at Marik. "I won't? You wanna bet on that?"

"Yes. I would." Marik's grin turned sly. "You sure? Amazing foreplay, heat of the moment, my breath warm on your neck and proof of my want for you rubbing up against yours. I tease you, kiss you, and you can just walk away?" Marik chuckled. "I doubt it. Not knowing what you'd be missing." Cockiness radiated from him. "I'll take a bet on it."

"You..." Bakura had to close his eyes and take a deep breath, collecting himself. "You are insufferable. You are the most arrogant, smug, cocky bastard I have ever had the misfortune of knowing. I would very much like you hurt you now." He opened his eyes halfway, and the corners of his lips twitched. "But I won't. You know why?" He leaned in to whisper: "I know I can have my way with you any time I want. Your threats are absolute flummery."

Unaffected by Bakura's intensity, Marik responded, "I've said it before, Bakura, and I stand by what I said. I'm yours as much as you're mine." He licked Bakura's cheek. "You can have me whenever you want me. But so can I."

He placed a hand on the back of Marik's neck, squeezing. "Mhmm. We'll see." With that, he walked past Marik back into the room, wordlessly seeking out his boxers and slipping them on.

Marik yawned, still tired, and walked back in the room, following Bakura. Fucking modesty, he plopped back down on his bed, watching Bakura dress. He was going to be sore for _days_...

Bakura followed suit, falling back onto the bed beside Marik with his hands folded underneath his head. He stared straight up at the ceiling - frowning slightly - thinking again.

Marik reclined next to him, watching him, his eyelids drooping from tiredness slightly. He wasn't used to this yet; he didn't know protocol, what he could and couldn't do, when and when he couldn't. He supposed he'd wing it. Marik sighed as he watched Bakura think, worrying slightly as to what he was thinking about.

Without breaking his stare or turning his head, Bakura lifted an arm to place a hand on the top of Marik's head, ruffling his hair slightly in a comforting gesture. "Sleep."

Pulling one of his eyebrows down in a half-frown, Marik pursed his lips, still looking at him.

When he received no response, Bakura was motivated to turn, taking in Marik's expression and replying to it with a small smile. "_Sleep."_

Scowling, Marik turned his face to the ceiling and closed his eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

Marik was gone.

The tournament was over, the Pharaoh had won, and Marik was gone. Banished. As good as dead.

After their rendezvous, Bakura had seen it best to lie low; during daylight, he allowed his comatose hikari's soul to take over, and at night he emerged to spend time with his lover. For the duration of the finals he was forced to stay asleep; however, when he awoke - expecting Marik's triumphant return - he received a not-so-pleasant surprise. Ryou's soul was free, meaning those Marik had trapped in the Shadow Realm were as well, and - as he soon discovered, to his horror - this included Malik's. Yami and hikari had switched places, and there was nothing the spirit could do about it.

Bakura himself was immune to the Shadow Realm's hold, but bringing others back from it was beyond his power. At first he could see no way to right this wrong; and desperate, clawing bitterness consumed him for nights on end. The Gods had seen fit to outfit him with happiness, hope. A fleeting glimpse of love. And then they stripped it from him like a rapist would the clothes of a pretty girl in a deserted alleyway.

Bakura could find no way to cope but to take everything out on Ryou. Taking him over, abusing his body, and letting go again to watch him suffer. Screaming words of hatred and loathing at him from inside his head. The abuse sated him, but never for long. He knew he had to find a way to get Marik back - and soon, or he might ruin his vessel for good.

And one night, in the middle of a particularly bad scarring session, it hit him.

It had been nigh on a week since the tournament's end, and he knew Malik and his gang were due to fly back to Egypt at any moment. He happened to know where they were staying, luckily, and in the dead of night at dangerous speeds, Bakura found himself driving toward the hotel with a grip that turned his knuckles white and a grin that could slay.

It was simple. A snatch-and-grab. He would get rid of Odion first, and take what he needed. He already had everything he needed; duct tape, a well-sharpened knife, and more duct tape. He'd have Malik at his complete mercy.

Oh, the things that he would do.

The stench of failure was clinging to him. He lie face down in the fog, refusing to move. Banished to the shadow realm. Fucking perfect. Nothingness- it was enough to drive him sane. He hated it there, and couldn't for the life of him figure out how to escape... It wasn't enough for him to lose. He had to be sent to the plain of suckitude; away from Bakura, away from attempting to kill the pharaoh, away from _everything_ he was purposed for. He HAD to get out of here..

Malik scowled as he packed his bag. He was glad to be leaving this place. He didn't care what he said- he never wanted to see the pharaoh or his friends again and could care less what happened to them. He didn't particularly want to go back to Egypt, but he didn't want to stay here, either.

Stupid tournament. At least his stupid yami was gone, and he didn't have to take care of that stupid, stupid god card or the stupid stupid STUPID Pharaoh's friends.

He packed the last of his things, save what he was wearing, and flung himself on one of the hotel beds. Sick. Of. Everything.

Hating things gave him a headache.

"Odion. Go get me some ice from the hallway. My head hurts."

Marik was born of Malik's hatred, jealousy, spite. With enough effort, he could be reborn, couldn't he? It might take time...he might have to whip out the old punishments. But Bakura would go to any means to bring him back. It was his last hope.

At the check in desk, he got the room number. Knife and tape hidden expertly under his cloak, he made his way through the halls, eyes darting this way and that, disliking that he had to move about in the light; no matter how quiet he could be, most of his thieving tactics were useless in the open. Footsteps approached; heavy, obviously male. Purposeful.

Bakura ducked behind a corner and watched the very man he was looking for walk past. He grinned and lunged.

Not five minutes later Bakura stood outside Malik's door, making a conscious effort not to laugh at his brilliant plan falling perfectly into place. Knife in hand, he raised a hand to knock loudly, then ducked - out of sight of the eye-hole - standing next to where the door would open.

"Hm?" Malik opened his eyes at hearing a knock at the door. "Odion?" There was no answer. He grunted as he stood, walking over too the door and peering out. There was nothing he could see. "Odion, that's not funny." he yelled, annoyed. What had taken him so long, anywa? He just wanted some damn ice. "You'd better have a good excuse." He opened the door.

Idiot boy.

In a fraction of a second Bakura had the blade pressed against the soft flesh of Malik's throat, forcing him back into the room. How easily his knife would cut through that skin...like butter...it would be so easy. But he needed that body intact.

"One word and I'll slit your throat," he hissed, deadly - his eyes glinted with the fury of a madman, his lips pulled back to reveal too-sharp canines. He pulled the door closed behind them.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK.

Malik's eyes opened as wide as they could, one of them twitching. How the HELL did BAKURA of all people find his room? And why did he have a damned knife pressed to his throat?

Trying to squash the fear he felt inside, he answered anyway. "What do you WANT?" His voice betrayed him and shook slightly on the last word.

The fear wavering in Malik's voice ignited the sadism within Bakura and made him pause to laugh quietly for a moment. "I want you to come with me, dear boy. Although it's not as if you have much of a choice." He now had his prey pinned against the wall to ensure he had no escape. Licking his lips, Bakura leaned in slightly, lifting the tip of the knife to Malik's cheek and dragging it downward to create the thinnest of cuts. His eyes fixed on the single droplet of blood it produced. "You're going to walk out the door, down the hall, and into the parking lot. I'll be directly behind you. If you so much as think about trying anything, this knife is going in your back."

Malik hissed as he felt the knife pierce his cheek. He flinched at Bakura's words and glared at him, fear peeking through his furious façade. "Why. Where are we going. Where's Odion?" Malik's brain quickly digested the situation, trying to understand why Bakura of all people was kidnapping him.

Bakura chuckled. "You'll soon find out the answer to the first two questions. As for the third...well, let's just say he's out of the way." He knew being ambiguous about Odion would keep Malik sweating, and he simply loved to watch his victims squirm, so he left it at that and stepped back, motioning with the blade in his hand. "Grab your suitcase and move."

Bakura was not playing around, that much Malik could see. Adrenaline began pumping through his veins more than it already had been; he grew worried if he was even going to survive this. Malik slowly strode to his suitcase and picked it up, holding it carefully in his hand, half wishing he had thought to store a weapon inside it. He glared at Bakura once again and headed towards his door, and out into the hall.

Bakura followed not three inches behind, palming the knife. They had to walk past the woman at the desk, and if they didn't want to raise suspicion, Malik had to stop looking like a deer in headlights. To hopefully relax his expression, Bakura whispered: "If you do everything I say, you'll come out of this very much alive. Don't worry."

Perhaps more emotionally scarred and in desperate need of therapy, but alive nonetheless.

Malik scowled. He didn't like Bakura's phrasing. 'Very much alive' led him to believe he wouldn't come out unscathed. He attempted not to seem afraid of Bakura, and held his head high and walked with purpose down the hallway and into the lobby. He barely glanced at the receptionist, before walking quickly out, clutching his suitcase.

Smirking all the while, the spirit saw Malik out and directed him towards the back of the parking lot, where he'd parked. His powder blue _. "My hikari's," he added with obvious distaste as he shoved the boy's head inside - in the backseat.

No sooner was Malik inside than Bakura was on him, shoving his hands behind his back and wrapping them in duct tape with frightening speed. Deciding he didn't want to deal with those inane questions, he placed a strip over the boy's mouth as well. Bakura paused, admiring his work, before pulling Malik upright and buckling his seatbelt.

"We want to make sure we're safe, yes?"

He had a good hearty laugh at this.

Malik's eyes were huge, staring from the seatbelt back to Bakura. He had no idea what the hell was going on, or why. He struggled in vain against the duct tape, and, finding he could do nothing, slumped in the seat, with his head down, not even wanting to look at his captor to cut him with his hate-filled gaze.

"HAHAHA! Giving up already, are we?" Bakura grabbed a fistful of hair and yanked Malik's head up so he could look in his eyes. "That's no fun at all!"

God, he'd forgotten how _great_ it was to be sadistic.

Throwing Malik's suitcase in the passenger seat and relocating to the driver's side, Bakura slammed the door shut and turned the key in the car. It roared, rather ominously, to life, and as he pulled out he switched the radio on to nearly full volume. He still had a CD in; Marilyn Manson. Of course, how fitting. He laughed.

The look Malik gave him was full of venom, and although he could not speak, he didn't really have to to convey the obvious things he wanted to express. Not wanting to dwell on worrying where he was going, why Bakura had kidnapped him, what happened to Odion, or how badly injured he would end up being, he instead envisioned himself hurting Bakura in every way he could think of. Breaking the duct tape, finding a pen, and stabbing him in the throat with it. Lifting a leg and kicking Bakura in the head so hard the skull cracked. Making enough of a commotion for Bakura to get distracted, crash the car, and be decapitated by a semi. ... Yes, that will do to distract him.

_And our monkeys have monkeys, we drive our death crush diamond jaguar limousiiiines_

Bakura was feeling good, he really was. The pendulum had swung from one extreme to the other; he was nearly giddy with glee that he he was playing the game again, had a teenage boy completely at his mercy, and - most of all - had taken the first step towards getting back Marik.

_We're not fantastic motherfuckers, but we play them on TV..._

The car ride was spent mouthing lyrics, making sharp turns, and laughing quite often. Eventually they crawled to a stop in the back of the parking lot by Bakura's apartment. Wordlessly, Bakura stepped out (suitcase in tow), grabbed Malik by the shirt and pulled him out too, and shoved him in the direction of the building. As they walked, he kept a hand on the small of the boy's back, this time unafraid of retribution or prying eyes. The walk inside and the wait in the elevator and the stroll through the hall met no resistance.

"Welcome to your new home," he nearly whispered, eyes lit up in delight, as they stepped inside.

Malik, furious, kept a weary eye open the entire walk, looking for means of escape or flee. He hadn't been too fond of Bakura when he had been in the tournament, but he hadn't expected this by any stretch of the imagination. Now that he had calmed down somewhat, he began to wonder. He had new scars on his chest, but he had assumed his yami was just crazy. Perhaps though, as now that he thought about it, it was vaguely in the shape of the Millennium Ring, there was some sort of connection to that and his kidnapping? Bile rose in his throat and his stomach churned as he began to wonder what it was that his yami really did while in control of his body.

The first thing Bakura did, after dropping the suitcase, was rip the duct tape off Malik's mouth and backhand him across the face hard enough to knock him to the ground. This was, predictably, followed by a loud laugh. "Beginning to realize why you're here now, hmm? Or shall I shed some light on the situation?"

Malik clutched his face on the ground for a moment, the stinging pain making his eyes water. He bit back the pain-induced tears before turning back to Bakura to glare at him once again, refusing to speak. He wanted to know, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to hear Bakura telling him. He kept a hand to his face, rubbing where he had been struck.

"Cat got your tongue?" Bakura was on Malik in an instant, straddling his waist. One hand tangled in his hair and yanked his head back, while the other drew his trusty blade and held the point up to his lips. "If you're not going to use it, I can just cut it out, if you like." He leaned in, savage grin replaced by a rather unsettling frown of disapproval. "When I ask you a question, _you answer it."_

His heart leapt into his throat and beat several times too fast. His eye muscles pulled into a glare, while his eyes opened wide; unconsciously, he pulled his tongue back further into his mouth. He swallowed, and closed his eyes for a moment, then reopened them and twisted his face away from the blade so he could speak. "Fine. Why am I here." He wasn't getting any better at disguising his fear.

"Hmm. Better." The knife returned to its sheath, and Bakura sat back up. It wasn't as if he could actually do something that drastic; when Marik returned, he'd be using that body. Which was why the spirit had to be careful about which punishments he used...

"I'm not going to tell you. AHAHAHAH." He punctuated the deadpan line with another sharp slap, putting some strength into it this time.

Malik hissed and spat, half-expecting to be hit. That was why he didn't answer the first time he was asked; for fear of Bakura striking him. Not wanting to be hit a third time, Malik did not ask any questions, nor did he make a noise as he continued glaring up at Bakura, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

It might be some time before Marik came back out. If he abused the body now, it would heal before Marik possessed it. Bakura simply had to be careful not to do any permanent damage. He had been thinking of some punishments he'd like to have used - breaking his toes one by one, pulling a few of his teeth with a pair of plyers - but alas, they were not an option.

Bakura stared at the boy, thinking. Sensory deprivation would come first; it always did. Take away his sense of hearing, his sight, for a few days. When one sense is absent, the others are strengthened, and with his sense of touch ten times more acute than usual Malik would enjoy the torture quite a bit more.

Any wounds he created would be sanitized immediately with salt and vinegar. Especially the open ones.

...He would keep Malik well-fed, yes, and quite caffeinated. Bakura would feed him only sugary things, and steadily, so his body rarely let him sleep - not only would he suffer hours and hours of the boredom and silence that drives people mad, the sleep deprivation would weaken his will. If he did manage to fall asleep, Bakura would wake him before he'd had even an hour's worth of shut-eye.

Bakura stared down at Malik in thought. "...Why do you _think_ you're here?"

"Because you're a sadistic psychopath who won't tell me why he gets a kick out of torturing me." Malik said, venom laced in his words. In truth, he thought his yami and Bakura had made some sort of blood pact, as his chest was scarred, and his yami had not fulfilled his part of the obligation, therein making Bakura extract fair payment by beating Malik mercilessly. His stupid yami was nothing but trouble for him...

"Mmm." Bakura smiled down at Malik, a fingertip tracing a familiar pattern upon his forehead. Let the boy decipher it as he will. "I want something from you, Malik. You're going to give it to me if I have to beat you an inch from death."

He needed Malik to feel so much rage, so much hatred, so much desperation that his subconscious called forth his protector again. It was so easy to push him to that, wasn't it? He just had to think, remember...this boy was the reason his love was gone...he was the cause behind this strange new suffering.

Bakura struck him again, this time with a fist. Maybe he'd get a nosebleed out of this one. "I do enjoy the torturing; however, I have my reasons for it. Your yami is the chaotic one, not I."

_The eye... He wants something from me.._. Malik thought, quickly changing his preconception. So he wanted his yami? Why? When Bakura struck him again, Malik clutched at his face, feeling it beginning to grow tender and painful even to make expressions.

From where he landed on the floor, Malik spat back at Bakura, "My yami is gone. He's not coming back. Torturing me won't do shit, Bakura."

That was not what he wanted to hear.

Bakura grabbed Malik by his shirt, easily lifting him off his feet, holding him up so they were eye-to-eye. Every word oozing venom, he hissed, "When I'm through with you, you'll wish you'd never left the Ra-damned Shadow Realm. One way or another, he'll come back." With that, he slammed the boy against the wall, executing a quick knee to the groin with a simultaneous uppercut. His knuckles cracked; tonight would be the warm-up. Just a _taste._

Malik yelled at the abuse, blood filling his mouth and in severity of pain in his crotch. Even in as much pain as he was, he still had the will to rebel against his captor, spitting some of the blood in his mouth out and onto Bakura's clothes. He then covered his face in his hands, protecting it, and searching for the cause of his bleeding. "Psychotic bastard.."

"Tch." The small act of rebellion did little; he'd soon squash out that spirit, Bakura knew. Not pausing to give Malik time to catch his breath, he took the boy's arms - wrenching them away from his face - and twisted him around violently, likely dislocating one shoulder or both in the process. He had hooked an arm under Malik's and in his hand he held a knife, which dug through the cloth of his shirt, cutting it unceremoniously away.

Little cocky bitch. His pride would soon be ripped from him. Stripped away. He'd know the feeling Bakura had experienced so thoroughly...and he'd know it just as well, if not better. They'd be the best of friends.

"AGH!" Malik yelled, gripping at the wall. So much pain.. He flashed back to when he was a young boy, and his father had carved into his back. If he survived that with just some scars, he could survive whatever Bakura threw at him. He was not going to be humiliated..

At least that's what he told himself.

In the back of Malik's mind, he knew Bakura could be pretty fucking nasty. He probably would eventually break him, but Malik highly doubted being broken would somehow get his yami back.

With the shirt torn away, Bakura shoved Malik roughly against the wall and then threw him to the ground, face twisted into something between a grimace and a sneer. His foot settled on the boy's face, heel grinding into his cheek. "I'd smash your pretty little face into pieces right about now," he said, "but unfortunately your body has to remain intact. Consider yourself lucky." Instead, he simply kicked at Malik's stomach. Repeatedly.

It felt so fucking _good _to do that. Taking his rage out on someone other than his own hikari. Seeing the pain clear on his face...that face, with the too-wide eyes and the not-right hair and the sane expression. It was perverse. Not what it should be. He would very much have liked to break it, but he settled for more kicking.

Lucky? Insane, psychotic, son of-

Malik couldn't even think anymore. Too much pain. His arm socket throbbed and his mouth bled. His face was sore, and his insides pulsated with agony from the foot kicking them. He abandoned his pride and opened his eyes to look at the face of his torturer. "Bakura. Please.." He begged, aching all over.

Here, he paused. Sneered.

"Please _what?"_ he said, staring directly into Malik's eyes with his own fury-filled ones. He had only just begun, and the begging was starting already? This was fantastic.

"Please let me at least fucking breathe." Malik choked. "Unless you want me to die, of course..."

Bluff. But he was willing to say anything to get the pain to relieve itself, at least temporarily.

Another kick. "You think this is going to kill you?" Bakura laughed, moving to straddle Malik's waist. "You think you can't breathe _now?" _His hands wrapped around that soft throat, squeezing. "You think I know the meaning of the word 'mercy?'"

Malik wouldn't have responded even if he could.

He instead closed his eyes and willed his mind away; thinking of anything but the here and now. No matter how much he wanted and needed protection, he was not going to have his yami come and fuck his life up again. No. Over his dead body. Which seemed like what would happen in a few weeks, knowing Bakura. He was going to be tortured and beaten for a long time, he could already tell…

Bakura's grip remained tight until seconds before he knew Malik would pass out. Only then did he release it, lean back, and stare down at the panting boy. His words came quieter. Deadlier. "Before I'm done with you, you'll wish with all your being that you had never even _considered_ ridding yourself of your darker half. You'll be driven to insanity if you don't release him to protect your fragile mind - I can assure you of that. You've never even_ dreamed _of half the things I plan to do to you. However...you have a chance to escape this fate. You won't have to face all the pain and the misery and the suffering if you just bring him _back."_

As Malik gasped for air, he spoke, in between pants. "Why. My dark was nothing but a nuisance to everyone. He hurt me. He hurt my family. He hurt people I hate, and for some reason I feel guilty for that. The world is much better without him in it." Malik spoke with his face to the ground, speaking in a low voice, tone somehow conveying the bitterness he felt towards both his yami and to Bakura. "He should just _stay_ in the fucking shadow realm."

The knife was out again. Digging into Malik's jaw, cheek. Pressing down and tearing through like a shovel wedged in soft earth.

"_You're _the one who's supposed to be in the fucking Shadow Realm! You should have just stayed there and rotted for all eternity and left him here because he was the only thing-" Here Bakura cut himself off. He didn't know if he wanted to give that away just yet, or let the boy come to his own conclusion. "...**I **want him back here, and what I want, I get. One way or another, Malik. Whatever. Means. _Necessary."_

Blood running down his face, cheeks and neck bruising, pain in his abdomen, and he held his ground, knowing he was experiencing the least of his pain, and continuing with pissing Bakura off intentionally, anyway. "No."

Bakura stood. He dropped the knife to the ground. He stared down at Malik for a moment, turned on his heel, and walked away.

Before his victim would have even had time to scramble to his feet (or for the discarded knife), he returned with a piece of black cloth in hand, folded over to create a makeshift blindfold. He dropped to his knees at Malik's head. "Sit up," he ordered, voice flat and mechanical.

Malik was very apprehensive of the blindfold. And rightfully so. But he didn't see much of a choice, so he growled and sat, further from Bakura than he should have.

Wordlessly Bakura sighed and closed the distance Malik had created, setting the blindfold in place and tying it tight enough that he'd be able to feel the pulse in his temple. To close the gaps of light created by the indentation of the eye socket, he whipped out his trusty duct tape and sealed them, effectively blotting out the light and keeping the blindfold firmly in place (careful, of course, not to cover his pretty eyebrows. They'd come off with the tape).

"Up," he said.

Malik was getting very anxious by this point, and being blinded now increased his fear, not being able to see his captor. He stood, keeping his arms outstretched slightly to try and retain distance from him and any object he could wield.

Roughly, Bakura shoved Malik forward, guiding him crudely through the place. They ended up in the bathroom; the spirit forced Malik to sit on the closed toilet seat, said, "Stay," and made his way back out.

He grabbed an alarm clock and spent a few moments changing its settings before returning. It had to be put it someplace Malik could not reach; as there were very few places in the small space out of arm's reach, he settled on slamming shut the door - locking it - and placing it on the ground just outside, so the sound would carry through the crack underneath the door. The thing was shrill, but from here it wouldn't reach his own bedroom. It would go off every half hour.

Bakura smirked to himself. Deciding to leave Malik hanging, he simply walked away, thoroughly satisfied for the night.


	6. Chapter 6

For a while, Malik sat, tense, waiting on the seat, thinking that any moment, he could be hurt or injured. But as time ticked by, he relaxed, getting more comfortable, albeit bored. Perhaps torture was over for today...

He settled back against the seat, the blindfold making things blackened enough that he began to grow drowsy, despite the pain he felt. When he had just begun to nod off, a loud ringing sound startled him awake. He jumped and opened his eyes, forgetting he was blindfolded. Frustrated, he wandered to the sound that stirred him, banging into the door. He rubbed his head and knelt down to lean his head against the crack at the bottom, sensing the alarm clock. He scowled, and felt his way back to the toilet seat, sitting. He tensed up, thinking that the alarm was for Bakura to come back in again. But 15 minutes went by, and he relaxed, beginning to nod off again.

Only to repeat the process every half hour.

Peacefully, for once, Bakura slept. Knowing his goal was within reach. He imagined this must be what Sweeney Todd must have felt like when he was reunited with his friends - the means to his desperate end.

He awoke late in the morning, relaxed. As he ate, he considered what to do with Malik's diet; the first few days would be marred with sleep deprivation, so for now, sugary things would have to combat it. After a couple days his body would grow used to the fleeting fits of sleep and this would not be necessary, but for now he had to keep caffeinated.

Fifteen minutes later he was walking in the door with a cup of coffee and a couple of donuts in tow. His little Malik would have to be quite wide awake for the next few hours; this would do nicely.

Setting them on the table, Bakura made his way to the bathroom, kicked aside the clock, and opened the door wide. "Wake up, sunshine."

Malik, having just finally fallen asleep again, jumped awake at the sound of the door opening and instinctively smashed himself against the wall. "Did you really expect me to be asleep, with that fucking alarm clock blaring every other minute?" Malik said, distastefully. Being unable to see heightened his sense of smell, and he could smell coffee wafting in the room. Suspiciously, he asked him, "What's that?"

"Of course not," came the matter-of-fact reply. Bakura was about to grab the boy, but a brilliant idea struck him, and he simply leaned against the doorframe, face contorted around a smirk. This would be fucking hilarious. His sense of smell was already sharpening; he should be able to put it to use while he still could, yes? "What's what?"

Malik was uneasy. He could not see Bakura, of course, but neither could he sense his presence to him within an arms reach. He didn't like not knowing where his captor was- it probably bode ill for him. "That smell. Coffee?" Malik made a face.

"Hm. You're right. Coffee and donuts...thought I might as well feed you while you're here, mm?" He took a step forward and bent down, eye-to-blindfold with the boy, watching his expression with obvious amusement. "I'm not going to bring you to them, though, nor am I taking off that blindfold. You want to eat, you have to sniff it out." Like a dog.

"I'm not going to go sniffing and bumping into shit. I'm not hungry." His stomach betrayed him and growled at that exact moment. Malik scowled and folded his arms. "I'm still not going to look for it."

Bakura had to laugh. "Are you so sure about that? If you don't go sniffing for it, you don't get anything at all. Starve yourself, if you like; it makes little difference to me." He stepped aside, footstep echoing in the small room, and held out his arm as if he were a gentlemen ushering a lady, even though he knew Malik could not see it.

Malik's face pulled a grimace. He really despised this man. He was not going to let Bakura win, nor was he going to let him break him. Malik knew he had a strong will, but Bakura was ruthless, cruel, merciless. As soon as he walked in the door and Malik smelled what he had brought, he knew it would come with a price. This price was his dignity. And although it was not physically painful, like the kicking or the knives, it was still too high to pay. Malik's stomach rumbled again and he knew he had to eat. Retaining dignity as best he could, he purposefully stood and turned his head about, smelling. He refused to give Bakura satisfaction of hearing him, so he smelled what he could with his inhales. He extended a hand to the wall (so as not to bump into any objects or person) and slowly rotated and walked forward.

"Hope you memorized the layout of this place when you got here last night," taunted Bakura in an almost sing-song voice, his smirk evident in the sound. He considered tying Malik's hands behind his back so he'd bump headfirst into everything - and he wouldn't be able to catch himself if he tripped - but he'd need those hands to open doors (which he'd probably smack into or think were walls), and honestly the spirit couldn't be bothered. This was funny as hell already.

Sneering as Malik passed him, Bakura shoved him forward out the door, following closely behind.

Malik stumbled slightly, still very unfamiliar with where he was. The only look he had gotten when he was first taken was of the carpet he face planted in and the wall he was shoved up against. This was humiliating. Sniffing for his food. He was praying that the food was nearby, but of course knowing Bakura and his sick amusement he got from completely stripping people of their dignity, it won't be close.

Stretching his arms out to make sure he wouldn't hit anything, he tried to follow the smell. He couldn't quite find where it was coming from. Frustrated and scowling, he obviously couldn't feel or see the knee high table he smashed into. He hissed and grabbed his shin, already knowing that was going to bruise.

"Whoopsie." Grinning savagely, the captor followed his victim with arms crossed, lips curled back in mirth. "Be more careful. You wouldn't want to break anything." Only one thing was going to be broken tonight, if all went well.

Sniggering dryly, he shoved the boy in the correct direction - more of an excuse to shove him off balance as he grabbed his injured knee than to help him. "Keep moving, lest I change my mind and decide to starve you instead."

Lucky for him having his hands outstretched, he managed to catch himself before falling on his face. Malik pushed himself up and continued on, scowling angrily. He sniffed and dragged his feet as he walked along.

After a few more minutes of stumbling around and going the wrong direction a few times, he finally located the food. Instead of eating it, he poked at it, suspicious.

Almost forgetting Malik couldn't see, Bakura rolled his eyes. "I haven't poisoned it," he sneered, sliding into a chair at the table and propping himself up on an elbow. "I need you alive, for now."

"Only a fool would continue blindly trusting his captor." Yes, continue. He'd learned his lesson. Still not totally trusting the food given to him, he hesitantly picked up and took a bite of a donut. It was so good- especially since he hadn't even eaten the day he was kidnapped. Unable to stop himself, he ate the whole thing in a few bites. Gently and slowly sticking out his hand, he located the coffee as well, and drank at it, slowly getting more awake despite the poor night's sleep.

"Then what a fool you are." Unmoving, the spirit watched Malik with eyes half-lidded, a lazy smirk painted across his face. When he spoke, it was evident in his voice. "Waking up, now, are we?"

"Obviously.." Sugar and caffeine, of course he was waking up. He still didn't see what the reasoning for Bakura's doing this was. He knew there was something he was just not putting together, but it was more due to lack of sleep than anything else. The caffeine was already jumpstarting his sluggish brain, and his mind sped up more and more.

"Mm, good." The corners of Bakura's lips curled up, baring his teeth in a grin positively oozing malice - in one swift movement he was up, grabbing Malik by the arm and pulling him roughly off, leaving the chair in which he was sitting to topple over; he dragged the boy back through the rooms and halls, towards the bathroom.

It would be so much easier to do this in the bathtub; bloodstains were so difficult to clean from the carpet.

Malik was very uncomfortable with this. Not only was he being dragged through the place he had come to despise, he was still blindfolded and was being jerked around. His arms hit a corner of the wall with a loud thunking noise, and he cut off a cry of pain as he clutched at his skin. That was going to bruise, too. At this point, his body was riddled with bruises, cuts, and dried blood. He felt his feet hit the tile again and internally groaned. What could he be planning for him..

One moment, they were standing, Bakura's grip on Malik's arm tight enough to add even more bruises to the ones decorating the boy's body; the next, he was facedown in the smooth, cold linoleum of the bathtub, the spirit straddling his thighs, his hands roaming over the marred skin stretched across Malik's back like two snakes slithering lazily towards their next meal.

"Your yami is a masochist," he breathed, leaning down to hover inches above his victim's neck, "and happened to quite enjoy me carving open his skin. Let's see if you're as bad as he is."

And his knife was out, gently pressed against the very topmost marking, tip just barely prodding at the indented skin. Whispering a threat. Teasing.

Malik immediately tensed up, reacting involuntarily to the feeling of a knife once again at his back. His face was smashed to the slick floor with his hair covering his eyes, so he allowed his eyes to widen, moving from uncomfortable feelings to increasing fear, muscles highly tensed. At Bakura's words, his mind suddenly clicked. Masochist.. 'enjoy me-'... 'I want him back here,' ...the scar.. No. Nonono. _**No! **_

"Wh-... No, y-... Fu-... My..." Malik made a grunt that was simultaneously frustrated, in denial, with growing fear.

"Mmmm, cat got your tongue?" The words left Bakura's lips like velvet. Smooth, saccharine, oozing satire, and no sooner had they left his mouth than his cold laughter was echoing off the walls.

The knife traced over the pattern etched into the Egyptian's back, whispering along his skin. Featherlight. Bakura imagined it must have tickled, in a frightening, cold-sharp-stinging kind of way. "Re_**lax**_," he purred,free hand sliding over the boy's skin and rubbing the muscles soothingly. "This will only hurt a lot."

In no way was Malik relaxing. The knife barely touching his skin, the words spoken lowly, the hand on his skin- they only served to make him more tense and worried, fears from past and future merging. He would fight with all his might not to have his back ripped open once again. Not too sure with how he would be able to handle it, in the pit of his stomach and heart he felt that familiar feeling of absolute dread. Shivers and muscle twitches ran down his back, refusing to answer his jabs.

"Of course..." Bakura sat up, knife coming to a stop and resting against the soft flesh, still. "You could always just skip this step altogether."

The blade retreated, and the spirit licked it fondly. "You know what I want."

Malik actually began to weigh his options. His memories were beginning to make him petrified of that knife. But he couldn't bring his yami back. Not knowing what he did to his dad, how he trapped innocent people in the shadow realm, that he would turn around and hurt more people if he were set free. Especially if the most cruel person he knew was here, waiting for him to emerge. But.. He needed him to get out of here. He had come to terms with the knowledge he wouldn't be able to fight his way out of this. Not alone. Marik was his only option. His only way to get free of his torture here, psychologically and physically.

Closing his eyes, he listened for and felt what he had been ignoring, the fighting in his heart and mind. Weak at first, it was growing stronger. All he had to do was unlock the cage and let him out and he would be saved...

No. He wrenched his eyes open, expression set. He was not letting his Yami out. No way.

After a long pause in which the silence seemed to weigh heavily upon them both, the moment seeming to stretch longer than it was - Bakura leaned back over his prey, lips set in a frown, eyes narrowing back to their unamused, indifferent stare. His voice dropped its fake sweetness. "Suit yourself." His grip tightened on the knife.

Slash. Cut. Slice.

Malik's loud cry of pain reverberated off the walls long after it died. The skin on his back was still very sensitive from being scarred, and reopening them was worse than the first time. His arms twitched violently and he squeezed his eyes shut, biting down on his lip, hard. He drew shaky breaths, and it was all he could do not to writhe in agony. Ordinarily he didn't mind pain; but this wasn't pain, this was torture for the damned.

Oh, music to his ears.

Resonating back on itself, echoing, a symphony of pain.

Blood was bubbling up along each contour his blade drew, shimmering ruby red and clinging to the cold steel, leaving lingering trails to outline the markings. It was beautiful, the sight, the sound, and he'd only just begun.

The spirit gave another violent jerk, feeling the flesh rip beneath his hand, and spoke again, smirking wide. "There's only one way out."

"A-" Malik bit _hard_ on his lip, refusing to let another scream rip from his throat. The pain was intense- he couldn't take much more. He knew he had to give in to his yami, and soon, but he refused to let himself give up that quickly. He was better than that, ..wasn't he?

His abdomen muscles clenched and he arched involuntarily, muscles moving on their own.

"N-...nuh...no..." he panted.

This was almost turning him on.

"No?" He knew what thought processes were going on in the boy's head - clicked his tongue in thought, deciding how best to combat them. "...You think waiting and holding out makes you stronger. You know you can't endure this, and you know you will have to give in, and yet you continue to put yourself through needless pain because you think you're proving something." Bakura paused to punctuate the statement with a light chuckle. "You are a fool. The wise realize their fate and act accordingly; the weak endure needless pain and suffering to prove an invalid point to people who don't care."

He picked a spot and dug in with the knife, wedging it further into his flesh.

"This could be all over now. Just. Let. Go."

Bakura's words went in one ear and out the other. Malik was not looking to prove something to Bakura- he was looking to prove something to himself. All his life he'd been tortured and not been able to win. He had lost when he tried, and was hurt when he didn't. He knew he was going to lose, but damnit, he was going down kicking and screaming.

The pain seared into his consciousness.. In a split second he made multiple arguments with himself, ending in, he had lasted, he was not weak in his own eyes. He was scarred, physically, mentally, emotionally.. But not weak. Not weak.

He felt another pang of pain and choked back another cry of pain, hatred boiling in him. One more push..

"If you're trying to hold on, at least scream for me."

The upper half of his back was painted red. The sound of blood dripping onto linoleum was lost underneath the wet, thick sound of skin snapping and tearing like meat. His body twisted and writhed in ways that made you think of a tortured animal.

Moments like these, Bakura felt like an artist.

Here, he simply traced the work of another; but he enhanced it, embellished it, improved it tenfold, and while the original artist was simply fulfilling a duty, he had purpose. He _would_ get Marik back, if it killed him. If it killed the both of them.

Slice. Cut. _**Rip.**_

Feeling like the scratching post for some wild ferocious and unsatisfiable beast, (which he was in a way,) the last agonizing rip of his own flesh was the straw that broke the camel's back. Malik let out one final agonized scream, before his body tensed and locked in place.

Internally, the spirit that was Malik slipped from consciousness, releasing the hold he had on the wall keeping Marik back. He covered his face with his hands, and sunk into a grateful comatose state, happy he no longer had to endure the physical pain.

Marik sat in the shadow realm, shadow beasts and spirits all around him, circling him, waiting to feast on his soul. He glared upwards with a completely blank expression, having long ago lost hope for escape. A deep grey spirit with white eyes snaked up his arm as another locked around his waist, and he knew this was the end. He made to close his eyes.

But before he did, he happened to glance down at his torso. It was fading. He wrenched his semi-closed eyes open and stared down at himself, sure it was a mirage. But no, his body was fading, being called back. The spirits and beasts dispersed, sensing his being released. Quickly, the spirit of Marik rose from the shadows to the light, finding the body of Malik and latching on.

This passed in a fracture of a second, the only indications anything was taking place was the locking of muscles and the body ceasing its breathing.

Then it lowered itself back onto the ground, limp, the inhabitant completely unaware of his surroundings. The fists clenched and the head turned to the side, shaking itself as the smooth hair righted itself to wild spikes. The eyes slowly opened and he pushed himself up onto his elbows, still not registering pain, company, or setting. The first word to be breathed from his lips again, was the single word, "...Bathtub...?"

"..."

He was here. Back. It worked. He had succeeded.

Marik.

The moment the writhing ceased, Bakura had withdrawn his knife from the marred flesh, but upon hearing the two syllables murmured in the voice for which he had pined like nothing else in his entire existence - he was frozen. In shock. All that ran through his mind was the name of the man beneath him; and in an absent state of mind, it ran off his lips a single time, short and quick and full of disbelief.

"Marik."

"...?"

Confused and disoriented, Marik reached up and felt the blindfold. Once he understood in his sluggish mind what it was, he clawed at it, yanking it over his head. He blinked up now, seeing clearly, noticing that, sure enough, he was in a bathtub. Blood pooled around him, and his awareness was becoming less and less numb as the pain creeped into his mind. He tilted his head backwards, lips parted, as he felt the force of the pain hit him. He groaned, feeling like he had been run through a washing machine or mugged.

Only after all these realizations came to him did he realize his name was said. Not only that, but said by the voice he knew he would recognize anywhere. His head snapped up correctly and he twisted around until he could see behind him and look up at the pale man looking at him with an expression of disbelief. "B-...Bakura.."

Marik.

Within the span of one skipped heartbeat, the distance between them was gone, and Bakura - leaning carefully over so as not to irritate the open, bleeding gashes he almost regretted making, now - had forced his lips hungrily and passionately against those of the man beneath him.

That taste. Those eyes. Nothing was registering in his mind anymore.

Gaining more and more realization of what was happening, it finally set in. He was free, he was out of the shadow realm. He was for some reason bleeding in a bathtub with pain wracking his back, but all that mattered to him were the lips pressed against his own. Marik had thought he would never catch a glimpse of him again, let alone kiss him again. So with sudden happiness, his lips pressed against the other's desperately, joy blending with the pain and confusion.

The moment that their lips stayed connected seemed to last an hour. For a few seconds, time stood still, and not a single thought ran through the spirit's mind but the vaguely acknowledged elation the kiss produced.

And then the situation came back to the forefront of his mind, and his eyes opened, breaking away and leaning up. "Forgive me -" he was whispering, breathless. Hands reaching to touch the masterpiece he knew must be hurting, badly. "I had to..."

Marik's mind clicked and he finally gathered the truth of the situation. The only plausible way for him to return was through Malik. He would have felt bad for his hikari, had it not been he who banished him. He hissed at the hands touching the injuries; pain too much to feel good. But he sat through it, willingly enduring it as it meant he was back here, with Bakura.

"'s alright." He uncaringly rested his head in some of the blood that had accumulated near his face, deeming it too difficult to keep his head elevated. "Th...thank you..."

He wanted to twist Marik over and crush their lips together. He wanted to embrace Marik, hold him tighter than he'd ever held anything, and whisper his name over and over in gratitude. He wanted to properly celebrate. But - and here he grew utterly frustrated with himself, growling as he reached for a washcloth on the side of the tub - he had instead forced his love to endure this pain, and his first priority had to be to stop the bleeding and stop the pain.

Bakura reached for the faucet, running water over the washcloth and ringing the excess out. His mind was blank, but his hands worked in overdrive. Quickly, they folded and pressed the washcloth to the wounds adorning Marik's shoulderblades and back, the light blue cloth becoming saturated with red.

Groaning at the feeling of the washcloth over him, he closed his eyes and tried to focus his mind on anything else. "H-.. How long have I been gone..?" He had zero concept of time in the shadow realm, it simultaneously felt like decades and seconds. And this situation was highly frustrating. He hated not being able to move, not being able to push himself up, not being able to turn around and hold his lover to himself.

Instead he had to lie there, near helpless as Bakura washed over the marred skin.

... A feeling of deja vu hit him; Bakura was washing injuries he had made to him, in the bathroom. A grin vaguely wormed itself to his lips as he remembered, and he would have laughed if he could have spared the breath.

"A week. Maybe two." Had Bakura been capable of his usual sarcastic snark he would have replied with something along the lines of "five hundred years, it's been lifetimes since I've seen you," but as it was he murmured the answer mindlessly. Concentrated on shifting the cloth to another wound, pressing down with his arms locked. "Lost my sense of time without you around..."

His eyes fell to the exposed part of Marik's neck, and instinctively he leaned down to kiss the tanned skin gently, soothingly, tips of his hair dipping into the pool of blood and floating listlessly. "Keep talking."

"Mmm.." The feel of his lips on his neck felt so very good right now.. "Shadow Realm... Not a fun place. ... I would really not like to go back there." This was obvious, but he felt the need to oblige and keep talking; and he didn't think repeating his name and 'I've missed you' would be of much help. He let his awareness go down his body from his back, registering the bruises and tender places. _'Christ, he must have taken a beating...' _He thought. _'...Good.'_

"I wouldn't think so." He reached up to rinse and wring out the bloodied cloth, water running pink beneath it. The blood under them was beginning to dilute and drain; the knees of his jeans were soaked. "It won't happen again if I can help it."

He left a trail of kisses along Marik's neck, shoulders. Reached with one hand to stroke his arm gently. Desperate to soothe the yami's pain somehow. "But you're back."

"Yes..." Marik groaned. "Thank whatever deity out there that I'm here again." He reached with one hand to stop the spirit's from touching his arm, instead holding onto the hand tightly, the only part of his body he could reach relatively pain free. Gently, he tugged it to his mouth and kissed it tenderly, gradually getting used to the pain and forcing his mind to try and ignore it.

He quietly murmured against the hand, "Can you get off so I can try and sit up? ..."

With some hesitation, Bakura did as asked, gently withdrawing his hand from Marik's and moving instead to sit on the edge of the tub. "It will hurt more when you move," he said, quietly, though for what purpose he did not know. This was obvious.

Marik knew it would. But one thing he absolutely loathed was feeling helpless. He had felt it for so long, trapped in the shadow realm or Malik's head, he was willing to endure the excruciating pain for some semblance of control for his actions. So, gritting his teeth and squeezing his eyes shut, he pushed himself up, onto his knees. The pain was searing, but he did it anyway. Blood soaked half of his face and all of his front, and he buried his face in his shoulder, breathing deeply to deal with it. "..Say something." He said, distractedly.

"Something." Without even realizing he had moved, Bakura was suddenly on his knees in front of his lover, arms wrapped tightly but carefully around his neck above the exposed and torn flesh. The blood soaked through the front of his shirt where Marik's face was pressed into his shoulder, and the smell of iron was cloying and bitter, but he didn't care. Soft tufts of blonde hair pressed against his cheek and the voice he'd missed dearly speaking to him again were the only things that mattered.

"Pain is better than experiencing nothing at all. Soon enough it will be gone. And the worse the pain, the better the pleasure that follows..."

He sighed and nestled his face into the crook of Bakura's neck, and gently and tiredly kissed the skin there. Although it hurt the skin near his shoulder blades, Marik reached out and clung to him tightly, as though he thought his love may disappear if he let go for even a moment. His words registered and the ends of his lips twitched upwards, grinning faintly. He nodded and purred slightly. "I'll be expecting... major reimbursement for all of this..." He teased.

"That and more." The comment earned a fleeting grin from the spirit. He wished nothing more than to hold tight and never let go, but the weakness in Marik's words was worrying enough to spur him into action. "Let's get you cleaned up," he said as he pulled back, reaching for the washcloth to gently wipe at the blood sticking to Marik's face, "and then you need to lie down. You've lost a lot of blood."

Marik nodded with some bitterness and closed his eyes while Bakura wiped his face. "Only if you promise to stay right next to me." He hated how weak he felt. Like an invalid or something. He scowled. This was not the condition in which he would prefer to be in right now. But beggars can't be choosers, he reasoned. His vision was beginning to have black spots, and it was becoming more and more difficult for him to stay kneeling upright. He was most likely going to faint soon.

He chuckled. "Where else would I be?"

Sensing he needed to work quickly, the thief was swift in wiping away the blood clinging to the tanned skin and gluing strands of hair together. The wounds required stitches, but the last place either of them wanted to be right now was a hospital. They had stopped bleeding; that was all that mattered. Some disinfectant, some bandages, and some sleep would hold them over.

This was all too familiar.

"Think you can stand?" Bakura asked, leaning back and placing the cloth aside, hand automatically reaching to brush a damp lock of hair from violet and worryingly unfocused eyes. "Or shall I carry you?"

Screwing up his face, clinging tightly to consciousness, Marik took a deep breath and rested his hand on the wall. He was determined to at least try to stand on his own. Putting most of his weight on his hand, he shifted his body to put his feet under him. Shakily, he reached out with his other hand to the wall to help himself stand, and cut off an cry of pain as the wounds stretched and pulled. Making a face as he stood all the way, he paused, enjoying his slight victory at standing on his own. He opened his eyes, but was highly disheartened as his vision was fading fast. His energy drained and his knees buckled; he began to wobble and fall.

Bakura was at his side at an instant.

"I'm sorry," he was murmuring as he gently placed Marik's arm around his shoulders, supporting him with a hand at his chest and an arm pressed (unfortunately necessarily) against his back. "I'm so sorry." He knew Marik probably hated the helplessness, despised having to be supported to so much as stand. But what was he to do?

"You can hit me, torture me, do whatever you like in retribution for this," he was saying as he helped the yami over the edge of the tub and across the tiled floor, tiny pink droplets of diluted blood dripping in their wake. "I wish I could have found a better way. I'm sorry..."

"Maybe in bed.." He mumbled, doing his best to tease while still struggling to move his feet. "I'm glad you saved m-.. me, no matter how it happened." He kept his arm around him as tightly as he could. Breathing deeply, he walked with him, letting Bakura lead him. Marik had never been here, and didn't know where anything was.

The bedroom had never seemed further away. After what felt like hours, Bakura was carefully lowering the other onto the bed and stripping him of the pants that had become drenched in blood and water. His own clothes were soaked with the stuff; vaguely acknowledging that those stains would take ages to get out, he tossed them in the pile as well.

"You just had to go and get yourself locked up in that accursed Shadow Realm..." the spirit sighed as he positioned himself next to the yami. None of this seemed real.

Marik was lying on his stomach, as he couldn't lie on his back, and was very relieved that he didn't have to support himself. "That was my plan.. Get locked there.. Yeah.." He mumbled with his eyes shut, relaxing. His arm reached out to drape itself over Bakura's midsection, reassuring himself that he was still there, the best he could do. "Stay..." And with that the dark set in and he went unconscious.


End file.
